THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


The 

Odes  of  Horace 


ENGLISHED  BY 

WILLIAM  HATHORN  MILLS,  M.  A. 


LBDEMB  STREET  &  ZEUS  COMPANY 

BERKELEY,  CALIFORNIA 

19X4 


COPYRIGHT,  1921 

BY  WILLIAM  HATHORN  MILLS 

Reprinted January  1934 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE 

V\7ILLIAM  HATHORN  MILLS  was 
**  born  at  Orton  Waterville,  near  Peter- 
borough, England,  on  April  28,  1848.  He 
was  educated  at  Haileybury  School  and 
Pembroke  College,  Cambridge,  of  which  he 
was  a  Foundation  Scholar,  and  Prizeman  in 
1867  for  the  best  composition  in  Latin  Verse. 
He  took  an  honor  degree  in  the  Classical 
Tripos  of  1870. 

He  was  headmaster  of  Ruthin  Grammar 
School  from  1875  to  1881,  and  continued  his 
scholastic  work  in  Louth  until  1895. 

He  was  vicar  of  Kelstern  1892-95,  rector 
of  Hackthorn  1895-1902,  rector  of  North 
Thoresby  1902-8,  and  rector  of  Rand  1908-9. 

Thereafter,  owing  to  poor  health,  he  was 
compelled  to  spend  much  of  his  time  in  a 
milder  climate  than  that  of  England,  and  in 
1913  came  to  California  to  visit  his  son,  Dr. 
H.  W.  Mills.  The  climate  suiting  him  per- 
fectly, he  ultimately  made  it  his  home.  He 
died  at  San  Bernardino,  California,  on  Sep- 
tember 29,  1923,  from  angina  pectoris. 

He  was  the  author  of  many  books  of 
poetry,  the  best  known  of  which  are  "Bal- 
lads of  Hellas"  (first  published  in  1878  and 
reprinted  in  1922),  "Calif ornica,"  "An  Old 
Man's  Musings,"  "War  Ballads  and  Verses," 
and  a  metrical  translation  of  the  Odes  of 
Horace  (1921). 

Requiescat  in  Pace. 


611117 

UBRAKT 


Stet  Capita  Hum 


WHETHER  he  sings  of  high  romance, 
Or  hymns  the  everlasting  Sire, 
Or  suits  his  lay  to  choral  dance, 

Or  scourges  forms  of  base  desire, 
Or  paints  the  lady  of  his  choice, 
Horace  is  still  a  living  Voice. 

Your  sweetly  smiling  Lalage, 
Whose  spirit  turned  a  wolf  to  flight, 

Your  little  farm  by  Tivoli, 

Bandusia's  fountain  crystal -bright, 

Your  haunts,  your  hospitalities — 

Horace,  theyVe  all  before  our  eyes. 

Orbilius  flogged  you  when  at  school; 

You  have  our  fullest  sympathy, 
For  we  remember  a  ferule, 

That  smote  us  oft  and  lustily; 
Would  it  had  gotten  into  us 
A  measure  of  your  genius. 

You  sang  how  Regulus  put  aside 
The  crowds  encumbering  his  return, 

Refused  his  wife's  kiss,  and  denied 
Her  plea  with  answer  curt  and  stern; 

"Rome  must  be  saved;  let  cowards  die" — 

We  hear  it  yet — that  haught  reply. 


How  Paulus  and  how  Cato  died, 
Too  staunch  to  fly,  too  proud  to  yield; 

How  stout  Marcellus  turned  the  tide 
Of  war  in  many  a  foughten  field; 

How  yeomen  played  heroic  parts — 

You've  stamped  it  all  upon  our  hearts. 

They  left  their  farms  to  fight;  they  braved 
All  pains  of  death;  and,  if  they  fell, 

What  mattered  it,  so  Rome  were  saved? 
Her  weal  safeguarded,  all  was  well. 

The  State  must  stand,  tho'  men  may  die — 

That  was  Old  Rome's  philosophy. 

You  made  them  household  words — the  names 
Of  those  who  fought  and  fell  for  Rome — 

And  you — your  memory  lives,  and  claims 
Place  at  their  side  in  every  home; 

Your  bones  lie  on  a  Roman  hill, 

Horace,  but  you  are  with  us  still. 


Puellis  Idoneus 


HORACE  had  many  themes ;  his  rimes 
At  times  clomb  Helicon's  peak;  at  times 
His  Muse  just  sported; 
He  sang  of  Gods,  of  mighty  men, 
Of  wines,  of  rustic  joys,  of  ten 
Damsels  he  courted. 

Jt  seems  he  had  a  lot  of  flames 
From  first  to  last ;  his  list  of  names 

Is  gey  an'  long; 

Were  they  real  living  demoiselles, 
Or  quite  imaginary  belles — 

Just  pegs  for  song? 

Some  anyhow  were  real,  and  two 
Adorned,  as  gentle  souls  and  true, 
His  poetry — 

The  kindly  Cinara — rapt,  alas! 
From  earth  untimely — and  the  lass 
Named  Lalage. 


PREFACE 

In  the  preparation  of  these  versions  I  consulted  with 
advantage  Mr.  Page's  abbreviated  edition  of  Horace. 
But  my  debt  of  debts  was  to  my  memories  of  the  days 
when  I  sat  at  the  feet  of  Arthur  Gray  Butler,  Head- 
Master  of  Haileybury  School  in  the  early  Sixties. 
My  thanks  are  also  due  to  several  friends  whose 
encouragements  have  helped  me  to  carry  on  the  work 
I  had  begun — a  somewhat  arduous  undertaking  for  a 
septuagenarian — in  particular,  to  Professor  L.  J.  Rich- 
ardson, of  the  University  of  California,  and  Mr.  J.  C. 
Rowell,  Librarian  Emeritus  of  the  University  Library. 
Three  of  the  Odes  I  did  not  care  to  translate,  and  have 
therefore  omitted  them.  W.  H.  M. 


M 


Od.  1. 1 


AECENAS,  heir  of  ancient  kings,  my  heart's  dear 
pride,  my  guardian : 


In  chariot-races  some  delight  to  gather  dust  Olympian, 
Whom  post,  just  missed  by  glowing  wheels,  and  victory's 

palm  Palladian, 
Make  gods  on  earth ;  thjs  man  exults  if  fickle  mobs  lift 

him  on  high, 
With  threefold  honours;  that,  if  Libya's  produce  fills 

his  granary. 
Attalic  wealth  would  never  move  one,  glad  to  hoe  his 

sire's  domain, 
To  plough,   a   frightened   mariner,   in   Cyprian   galley, 

Myrtos'  main. 
The  merchant,    scared    by    Afric's    war    with    waves 

Icarian,  magnifies 
Home's  rural  ease,  but  soon  refits,  unused  to  want,  his 

argosies. 
There's    one    who    scorns    not    Massic    old,    nor    hours 

snatched  from  the  working  day, 
Stretched  'neath  green  arbutus,  or  where  some  sacred 

fount's  rills  softly  play. 
Full  many  love  what  mothers  hate,  wars,  camps,  horns' 

scream,  and  trumpets'  blare. 
The  hunter  keen,  young  bride   forgot,   still  lingers  in 

the  chilly  air, 
When  his  good  hounds  have  viewed  a  hind  or  Marsian 

boar  has  burst  his  nets' 
Strong  toils.     Me  ivy,  meed  of  brows  poetic,  'mid  the 

high  Gods  sets. 


10 

Me   the   cool   grove,   and   fleet   Nymphs   trooped   with 

Satyrs,  sever  from  the  throng, 
If  but  Euterpe's  flutes,  and  sweet  Polymnia's  harp, 

cease  not  their  song. 

Rank  me  with   lyric  bards;   my  head   shall   smite  the 
stars,  their  choirs  among. 

Od.L  2 

ENOUGH  of  snow  and  hailstones  dire 
The  Sire  has  scattered,  and  with  red 
Right  hand  has  hurled  his  bolts  of  fire 

On  sacred  heights;  then  cowered  in  dread 
City  and  nations,  lest  the  time 

When  portents  strange  made  Pyrrha  plain, 
And  Porteus  bade  his  sea-herds  climb 

High  mountains,  should  return  again : 
When  in  the  elm-tops — roosting  place 

To  doves  familiar — in  their  haste 
Entangled,  hung  the  fishy  race, 

And  scared  hinds  swam  the  watery  waste. 
Tiber  we  saw,  with  fierce  back-wash 

Of  tawny  waves  from  Tuscany's 
Banksides,  upon  his  way  to  crash 

King's  works,  and  Vesta's  sanctuaries. 
Proclaiming  vengeance  for  the  fate 

Of  Ilia,  too-complaining  still, 
He  crossed  his  eastern  marge  in  spate, 

Uxorious  stream,  despite  Jove's  will. 
Our  youth,  by  parents'  vices  thinned, 

Shall  hear  of  swords,  that  better  far 


11 

Had  smote  the  Mede,  by  kin  unkinned 

Whetted,  alas !  for  impious  war. 
What  God  should  Rome  invoke  to  stay 

The  ruin  of  our  empire's  weal? 
What  prayers  should  sacred  Virgins  pray 

To  Vesta,  deaf  to  their  appeal? 
To  whom  will  Jove  assign  the  part 

Of  expiation?     Come  at  length, 
With  aureoled  shoulders,  thou,  who  art 

Augur  of  augurs,  in  thy  strength, 
Phoebus,  we  pray.    Or,  if  it  please 

Thee,  smiling  Erycina,  come 
With  Love  and  Laughter;  or,  if  these 

Thy  children,  Mars — the  race  of  Rome — 
So  long  forgot,  are  still  thy  care, 

Quit  war's  too-wearying  game,  what  tho* 
Thou  lov'st  shouts,  helms,  and  fiery  glare 

Of  Moorish  kern  at  blood-stained  foe. 
Or  if,  transformed,  thou  art  content 

Maia's  winged  Son,  to  image  now 
Young  manhood,  named,  with  thy  consent, 

Caesar's  avenger — O  come  thou ! 
Slow  to  return  to  heaven,  prolong 

Among  Quirinus'  folk  thy  stay; 
No  breeze  upbear  thee,  by  the  wrong 

We  do  provoked,  too  soon  away. 
That  men  should  call  the  Chief  .and  Sire — 

Choose  that ;  with  triumphs  cheer  thy  heart 
And  let  thy  rule's  avenging  ire, 

Caesar,  make  Parthia's  horsemen  smart. 


12 

Od.  1. 3 

FOR  this  may  Cyprus'   Goddess-Queen,  and  Helens 
brethren  bright, 
And  the  winds'   Sire,  releasing  but  lapyx  from  his 

cave, 
O  ship,  whose  ward  our  Virgil  is,  direct  your  course 

aright, 
So,    landing   him    on   Attic    shore,    my   being's    half 

you  save. 
His   breast   was   armed   with   triple    bronze    and    oak, 

who  to  rude  seas 
First  trusted  his   frail   bark,   nor   feared   squalls   of 

Sirocco  fell, 

Battling  it  out  with  Aquilo,  nor  rainy  Hyades, 
Nor  Notus,  arbiter  whose  will  bids  Hadria  sink  or 

swell. 
What  death  feared  he,  who  saw  dry-eyed  the  monsters 

of  the  deep; 
Saw    the    rough    main,     the     Thunder-Heights    of 

infamous  renown? 
If  impious  galleons  none  the  less  o'er  waves  forbidden 

leap, 
In  vain  Heaven's  wisdom  parted  lands   by  Ocean's 

sundering  frown. 
Bold   to  endure   all   things,   mankind   rushed   thro'   all 

wickedness ; 
Prometheus  bold    brought    fire    to    earth    by    fraud 

unfortunate ; 

Soon   as  the  fire  had   left   its  heaven,   strange   fevers 
and  distress 


13 

Swooped  on  the  world,  and  death — till  then  a  distant 

doom  and  late — 
Quickened  its  steps.    Thus  Daedalus,  with  wings  to  man 

denied, 
Tempted   the    void    air ;     Hercules    by    toil    broke 

Acheron's  sway; 
Naught  is  too  hard    for    mortal    men,    who    seek    in 

senseless  pride 

The  skies :  whose  sin   forbids  Jove's  ire  to  put  his 
bolts  away. 

Od.  1.  4 

NOW  loosed  is  Winter's  cruel  grip;  now  Spring  and 
Western  wind 
Bring  welcome  change;  the  windlass  hauls  dry  keels 

down  to  the  sea; 
No  longer  stalls  make  glad  the  herds,  no  longer  fires 

the  hind ; 
No  longer  stand  the  meadows  white  with  hoar-frost's 

argentry. 
Beneath  the  moon  now   Cytherean   Venus    leads    her 

choirs ; 
Graces  and  Nymphs,  a  comely  troop,  ring  hand  in 

hand  their  ring; 
Now   this,    now   that,    foot   beats    the    ground;    while 

Cyclops'  furnace-fires 
Glow,  as  fierce  Vulcan  fans  the  flames,  and  bids  the 

hammers  swing. 
Now  is   it  well  to  twine   trim   locks  with  myrtle,   or 

with  flowers, 

Brought  forth  by  fields,  now  thawed,  as  from  a  store 
of  treasures  hid; 


14 

Now  is  it  well  to  sacrifice  to  Faunus,  in  dim  bowers 

Of  shady  groves,  a  lamb  maybe,  or,  if  he  will,  a  kid. 

Marching   with   step   impartial,   Death's   pale   Presence 

raps  its  call 
At  doors  of  rich  and  poor  alike.     Wealth,  Sestius, 

is  yours; 
But   life's   brief    span   cuts    short   the   range  of   hope 

for  one  and  all; 
And  even  now  a  gloom  of  night  and  storied  Manes 

lours 
O'er  you,  and  Pluto's  shadowy  halls  expect  your  shade 

anon. 
Once  there,  no  longer    shall   you    cast    the    dice   to 

settle  who 
Shall   rule    the    feast,    nor    count    young    Lycidas    a 

paragon. 

Whom  all  the  lads  now  worship  and  the  lasses  soon 
shall   woo. 

Od.1.5 

WfHAT   scent-besprinkled   stripling  lad, 

™      Pyrrha,  would  win  your  favour,  where 
Some  grotto  smiles  with  roses  clad? 

For  whom  bind  you  your  golden  hair, 
Simple,  yet  dainty?     Soon  he'll  weep, 

How  oft !  changed  troth,  changed  deities, 
And  marvel,  as  the  wind-lashed  deep 

Darkens,  and  threats  his  startled  eyes, 
Who  in  his  folly  counts  you  now 

All  gold,  and  hopes  that  free  for  aye 
And  kind  you'll  be,  unwitting  how 

Your  favours  cheat.     Unhappy  they 


R 


IS 

On  whom  you  smile  untried.    For  me, 

His  temple-wall  and  tablet  show 
That  to  the  God,  who  rules  the  sea, 

I  hung  my  drenched  robes  long  ago. 

Od.  1. 6 

BY  Varius,  bird  of  Homer's  strain, 
Shall  you  be  sung  as  hero  wight, 
Leader  on  land  or  on  the  main 

Of  troops  victorious  in  the  fight. 
But  we,  Agrippa,  may  not  tell 

Your  feats,  nor  staunch  Achilles'  wrath, 
Nor  chant  the  house  of  Pelops  fell, 

Nor  sly  Ulysses'  sea-tossed  path. 
Too  weak  our  strength  for  paean-hymn, 

While  honour,  and  a  Muse  who  sways 
A  peaceful  lyre,  forbid  to  dim 

Your  fame  and  Caesar's  with  poor  praise. 
Mars  mailed  in  adamant,  Tydeus'  son, 

By  Pallas  matched  with  Gods  in  might, 
And,  black  with  dust  of  Ilion, 

Meriones — what  pen  could  write 
Of  these?     We  tell  of  banquets;  we 

Sing  lasses  making  fierce  onset 
On  lads  with  pared  nails,  fancy-free, 

Or,  if  love-fired,  light-hearted  yet. 

Od.  I.  7 

HODES,  Mytilene,  Ephesus,  or  Corinth  set  where 

two  seas  foam, 
Thessalian  Tempe,  Bacchus'  Thebes,  or  Delphi,  seat 
of  Phoebus'  pride, 


16 

Others   shall    sing.     Some   only   care   to   hymn   chaste 

Pallas'  Attic  home, 
From  first  to  last,  and  crown  their  brows  with  olives 

plucked  from  every  side. 
In    Juno's    honour,    most    will    tell    of    Argos'    steeds, 

Mycenae's  gold. 
Me  Sparta  staunch,  Larisa's  plains,  never  so  thrilled 

as  echoing 
Albuna's  fount,  and  Anio's  rush,  orchards  and  groves 

of  Tibur's  wold. 
And  restless  rills.     As    Notus    oft    clears    darkened 

skies,  nor  loves  to  bring 
Perpetual  rains,  so  be  you  wise,  Plancus,  to  drown  life's 

care  and  grief 
In  mellow  wine,  where  ensigns  light  your  camp,  or 

'neath  your  Tibur's  shade. 
Banished  from    Salamis    and    sire,   yet    Teucer   bound 

with  poplar-leaf 
His    wine-moist    brows,    and    bade    his    friends,    a 

sorrowing  crowd,  be  undismayed. 
"Whithersoever    fate   more   kind   than   sire   shall   lead 

us,  friends,  we'll  fare; 
None  may  despair,  where  Teucer  guides  and  guards: 

Apollo's  truth  has  sworn 
That  a  new  Salamis   shall  rise  elsewhere;   with  wine 

now  banish  care; 

Worse  things  we've  known,  brave  hearts ;  once  more 
we'll  plough  the  main  tomorrow  morn." 


17 

Od.  I.  8 

COME,  Lydia,  tell  me  why— by  all 
The  Gods  I  beg  you — you  would  lure 
By  love  young  Sybaris  to  his  fall : 

Why  now  he  hates,  who  could  endure 
Sunshine  and  dust,  the  Field,  nor  rides, 

In  soldier's  guise,  among  his  peers: 
Nor  with  toothed  bit  controls  and  guides 

His  Gallic  steed's  mouth;  aye,  and  fears 
Tiber.    Why  would  he  sooner  risk 

Venom  than  oil,  who  never  now 
Bears  bruises,  marks  of  strain — of  disc, 

Or  javelin,  thrown  a  winning  throw? 
Why  lies  he  hid,  as  Thetis'  son 

Lay  hid  ere  Troy's  sad  fall,  they  say, 
Lest  man's  attire  should  speed  him  on, 

With  Lycia's  troops,  to  join  the  fray? 

Od.  I.  9 

SEE  you  how  white  Soracte's  hill 
Stands  in  deep  snow:  how  forests  bow, 
Strained  by  their  burden;  how  the  chill 

Of  frost  has  stayed  the  rivers'  flow? 
Break  up  the  cold ;  pile  more  and  more 

Logs  on  the  hearth ;  from  your  Sabine 
Jar's  depths,  O  Thaliarchus,  pour 

More  generous  draughts  of  ripe  old  wine. 
Leave  to  the  Gods  all  else;  when  they 

Have  lulled  the  storms  whose  battles  thresh 


18 

The  ocean  into  boiling  spray, 

Naught  frets  cypress  and  aged  ash. 
Ask  not  the  morrow's  good  or  ill ; 

Reckon  it  gain  however  chance 
May  shape  each  day;  scorn  not,  while  still 

A  boy,  sweet  loves ;  scorn  not  the  dance. 
Life  in  its  Spring,  and  crabbed  eld 

Far  off — that  is  the  time;  then  hey 
For  Park,  Square,  whispered  concerts  held 

At  a  set  hour  at  close  of  day : 
For  the  sweet  laugh  whose  soft  alarm 

Tells  in  what  nook  the  maid  lies  hid : 
For  the  love-token  snatched  from  arm, 

Of  fingers  that  but  half-forbid. 

Od.1.10 

GRANDSON  of  Atlas  eloquent, 
Mercury,  skilful  to  refine 
Primaeval  manners  insolent 

By  speech  and  seemly  discipline — 
Thee  will  I  sing,  of  mighty  Jove 

Herald  and  of  the  gods,  whose  deft 
Hand  bent  the  lyre;  adept,  for  love 

Of  fun,  to  steal  and  hide  the  theft. 
Phoebus  once  threatened  thee  unless 

His  stolen  beeves  returned  anon — 
Ah,  naughty  boy! — scolded  thee,  yes, 

Yet  laughed — his  quiver  too  had  gone. 
With  thee  for  guide  rich  Priam  made 

His  way  unseen  past  Atreus'  sons, 
Past  Phthian  fires,  thro'  the  blockade 

Of  Troy-beleaguering  legions. 


19 

Kind  souls  find  under  thy  convoy 
Blest  homes ;  thy  gold  wand's  waving  gleam 

Shepherds  the  shades — who  art  the  joy 
Of  gods  inferne  and  gods  supreme. 

Od.I.ll 

SEEK  not  to  know — such  search  were  sin — what 
term,  Leuconoe, 

Of  life  the  Gods,  who  rule  our  lives,  have  fixed  for 
you  and  me, 

Nor  try  the  tables  that  sum  up  Babel's  astrology. 

'Twere  better — how  far  better! — to  endure  the  utter- 
most, 

Whether  Jove  grants  more  winters,  or  this  brings  a 
farewell  frost, 

That  breaks  the  strength  of  waves  that  lash  the  rock- 
bound  Tuscan  coast. 

Be  wise ;  strain  wines ;  curtail  far  hopes  to  fit  short 
destiny; 

E'en  while  we  speak  time,  grudging  time,  has  fled; 
snatch  eagerly 

Each  day,  and  trust  the  morrow's  grace  as  little  as 
may  be. 

Od.  1. 12 

CLIO,  what  man's,  what  hero's,  fame 
Art  fain  with  shrill-toned  pipe  to  sing, 
Or  lyre;  what  god's — that  so  his  name, 

Flung  back  by  echo's  laugh,  shall  ring 
Or  in  the  shades  of  Helicon, 
Or  upon  Pindus'  heights,  or  chill 


20 

Haemus,  whence  woods  swept  blindly  on 

At  tuneful  Orpheus'  heels,  whose  skill, 
His  mother's  grace,  made  his  art  strong 

To  stay  torrent  and  hurricane — 
Made  it  a  charm  to  draw  along 

The  listening  oaks  that  heard  his  strain? 
Whose  praise  shall  sooner  claim  my  song 

Than  his,  whom  gods  and  men  obey: 
Whose  seasons  spin  the  world  along, 

Above,  below,  with  tempering  sway? 
Naught  greater  than  himself  proceeds 

From  him ;  naught  next  his  being  is, 
Or  like  it;  yet  her  mighty  deeds 

Give  Pallas  nearest  rank  to  his. 
I  will  not  let  thy  prowess  go, 

Liber,  unsung — no,  nor  thy  fame, 
O  Virgin  huntress,  nor  thy  bow, 

Phoebus,  whose  shafts  miss  not  their  aim. 
Alcides  too,  and  Leda's  sons — 

Famed  cavalier,  famed  pugilist — 
I'll  hymn — to  mariners  twin  suns 

Of  hope,  for  tumbling  breakers  whist, 
Soon  as  their  white  stars  shine,  and  fall 

Back  from  the  rocks ;  rude  tempests  cease ; 
Clouds  flee;  waves'  threats  subside,  and  all 

Since  such  their  will,  is  calm  and  peace. 
What  name  comes  next?    I  hesitate — 

Romulus,  Numa's  quiet  sway, 
Proud  Tarquin's  tyranny,  Cato's  fate — 

The  death  that  is  his  fame  for  aye? 
Regulus,  Scaurus,  Paulus  wight, 

All  reckless  of  his  mighty  soul 
When  Carthage  won,  in  words  of  light 

Grateful  I'll  set  on  honour's  roll. 


21 

Fabricius,  Curius  unshorn, 

Camillus  —  these  stern  penury 
Reared,  sons  of  toil,  and  yeomen-born, 

To  be  true  sons  of  chivalry. 
As  thro'  unnoticed  ages  grows 

The  tree,  so  grows  Marcellus*  fame 
As  moon  'mid  lesser  lights,  so  glows 

The  Julian  star  with  brightest  flame. 
Father  and  guardian  of  our  race, 

Great  Saturn's  son,   Fate  gives  to  thee 
Charge  of  great  Caesar  ;  of  thy  grace, 

Reign  thou;  let  him  vicegerent  be. 
Whether  he  breaks  their  threats  and  leads 

In  well-won  triumph  Parthia's  hosts, 
Or  smites  Seric  and,  Indian  breeds, 

Who  dwell  below  the  Orient's  coasts, 
Beneath  thee  let  him  rule  the  world 

In  justice,  while  thy  ponderous  car 
Shakes  heaven,  and  while  thy  lightnings  hurled 

On  unchaste  groves  make  holy  war. 

Od.  1.  13 


Lydia,  you  praise  the  waxen  arms 
And  rosy  neck  of  Telephus, 
Ah,  then  my  heart  swells  with  the  fierce  alarms 

Of  jealousy  tumultuous. 
Then  reels  my  brain  ;  my  colour  comes  and  goes  ; 

Adown  my  cheeks  tears  steal  and  stray  — 
Proofs  of  my  inward  anguish  —  with  what  throes, 

What  smouldering  fires,   I  dwine  away. 
Aye,  for  I  burn  when  quarrels  fired  by  wine 

Have  marred  your  shoulders'  argentry; 


22 

When  your  mad  lover's  teeth  have  set  their  sign 

Upon  your  lips — an  infamy. 
You  would  not  hope,  if  but  to  me  you  list, 

To  keep  him  yours'  whose  brute  offence 
Scars  lips  on  which  Venus  herself  has  kissed 

Her  grace — her  nectar's  quintessence. 
Thrice  happy  they,  and  more  than  thrice,  by  bond 

Unbroken  linked,  whose  union 
A  love,  uplift  all  bickerings  beyond, 

Shall  bind  until  life's  day  is  done. 

Od.1.14 

SHIP  of  the  State,  new  waves  will  bear 
Thee  back  to  sea.    What  doest  thou  ?    Fight 
To  make  the  port;  thy  sides  are  bare 

Of  oars — ah,  seest  thou  not  thy  plight? 
Sprung  by  the  swift  South  wind  thy  mast 

And  sail-yards  groan;  thy  straining  back, 
Unfrapped  by  ropes,  can  scarce  outlast 

The  sea's  too  tyrannous  attack. 
Thy  sails  are  all  unsound ;  thou  hast 

No  gods  whose  guardiance  thou  mayst  claim, 
When  swept  by  some  fresh  tempest-blast; 

What  tho'  thou  boasted  race  and  fame, 
As  Pontic  pine,  and  nobly  born, 

Gay  poops  bring  mariners  no  cheer; 
Beware  lest  thou  become  a  scorn — 

A  laughing-stock  for  winds  to  jeer. 
Of  late  didst  vex  and  tire  my  soul; 

Now  dear,  dost  still  disturb  my  ease; 
Prithee,  avoid  the  seas  that  roll 

Between  the  shining  Cyclades. 


23 

Od.1.15 

WHAT  time  the  treacherous  shepherd  o'er  the  deep 
In  Mysian  bark  his  hostess  Helen  bare, 
Then  Nereus  lulled  the  stormy  winds"  to  sleep 

Unwelcome,  that  he  might,  as  seer,  declare 
His  doom.    "With  evil  omens  home  you  take 

Her,  whom  the  armies  of  the  Hellene  name, 
Sworn  to  lay  waste  Priam's  old  realm,  and  break 

Your  marriage-bond,  shall,  as  one  man,  reclaim. 
Ah  me,  what  agonies  threat  man  and  steed! 

What  mischiefs  for  the  Dardan  race — what  dire 
Ruin — you  stir!     Pallas,  to  meet  the  need, 

Gets  ready  helm,  shield,  chariots,  battle-ire. 
In  vain,  as  counting  Venus  your  ally, 

You'll  comb  your  locks  and  to  lute's  peaceful  strain 
Sing  songs  that  women  love ;  in  vain  you'll  fly 

In  nuptial  room  arrows  of  Gnossian  cane, 
And  deadly  spears,  the  battle's  stour  and  boom, 

The  swift  pursuit  of  Ajax — all  in  vain 
Your  flights;  for  spite  of  all,  tho'  late  your  doom, 

Your  locks  adulterous  with  dust  you'll  stain. 
See  you  not  on  your  trail  Laertes'  son, 

Bane  of  your  race,  and  Nestor,  Pylos'  sage? 
Teucer  of  Salamis  presses  hard  upon 

Your  heels,  and  Sthenelus,  well  skilled  to  wage 
War,  or,  if  steeds  need  rule,  keen  charioteer, 

A  dauntless  pair.    Aye,  and  you'll  learn  to  know 
Meriones.    More  than  his  sire's  peer, 

Lo,  Diomede  hunts  you,  raging,  even  now : 
Whom  you — as  a  scared  stag  flies  soon  as  he 

Has  spied  a  wolf,  crouched  on  the  vale's  far  side, 


24 

Herbage  forgot — with  panting  gasps  will  flee. 

Not  this  the  life  you  promised  to  your  bride. 
The  day  of  doom  for  Troy  and  Phrygian  dames 

Achilles'  angry  warships  will  delay. 
After  fixed  winters'  term,  Achaian  flames 

Shall  waste  the  homes  of  Ilion  for  aye." 

Od.  1. 16 

O  FAIRER  than  your  mother  fair, 
Put  whatsoever  end  you  please 
To  my  lampoons — no  matter  where, 

In  furnace  or  in  Hadria's  seas. 
Not  Dindymene — no,  nor  he 

Who  sits  upon  his  Pythian  seat — 
So  shakes  priests'  souls  with  ecstacy; 

Not  Liber ;  not  so  fiercely  beat 
Their  cymbals  Corybants,  as  grim  ire 

Rages ;  which  fears  nor  Noric  steel, 
Nor  wreckstrewn  sea,  nor  savage  fire, 

Nor  Jove's  down-rush  with  flash  and  peal. 
Prometheus,  forced  to  add  a  part 

Cut  from  each  creature  to  our  clay 
Primaeval,  grafted  on  our  heart 
T~  A  mad  lion's  might — so  legends  say. 

Passions  once  laid  Thyestes  low 

In  ruin,  and  have  come  to  be 
Root-cause  of  utter  overthrow 

To  lofty  cities,  presently 
Ploughed  under  by  some  haughty  foe. 

Restrain  your  wrath;  me,  too,  alas! 
A  hot  heart  tempted  long  ago, 

In  life's  sweet  youth ;  mad  that  I  was, 


25 

I  dashed  off  libels.     Courtesy, 
Not  rudeness,  now  shall  be  my  part, 

If  but,  my  taunts  withdrawn,  you'll  be 
My  friend,  and  give  me  back  your  heart. 

Od.  1. 17 

LEAVING  Lycaeus  oft  for  sweet 
Lucretilis,  swift  Faunus  fends 
Off  rainy  winds  and  summer's  heat 

Ever,  and  thus  my  goats  befriends. 
They  seek,  as  thro'  safe  woods  they  rove — 

These  wives  of  a  malodorous  spouse — 
Arbutus  lurking  in  the  grove, 

And  thyme,  unscathed ;  my  kidlings  browse 
Fearless  of  Mars'  wolves  and  green  snakes, 

What  time,  my  Tyndaris,  you  bring 
Your  pipe  that  wakes  the  vales,  and  makes 

Ustica's  smooth  escarpment  ring. 
Gods  guard  me;  to  the  Gods  are  dear 

My  Muse,  my  piety;  the  land's 
Honours — its  outpoured  wealth — shall  here 

From  horn  benignant  fill  your  hands. 
Here,  in  some  far  glen's  sanctuary 

From  Dog-Star's  heat,  to  Teian  strain 
You'll  tell  of  chaste  Penelope 

And  Circe  bright,  striving  amain 
For  one  man's  love.     Here  'neath  the  trees 

Shall  you  drink  cups  from  harmless  jars 
Of  Lesbian ;  nor  shall  Semele's 

Thyoneus  mix  up  brawls  with  Mars.    » 
Nor  shall  you  fear  the  wantonness 

Of  Cyrus,  lest  he  rudely  tear, 
Poor  little  innocent,  your  dress, 

And  chaplet  clinging  to  your  hair. 


26 

Od.  1. 18 

SEE,  VARUS,  that  you  plant  no  tree  before  the  sacred 
vine 

About  our  Tibur's  kindly  soil,  where  Catilus  of  eld 
Founded  his  town,  for  Heaven  has  willed  that  all  who 

hate  good  wine 
Should  suffer,  and  not  otherwise  are  gnawing  cares 

dispelled. 
Who,  after  wine,  on  war's  distress  or  poverty  wastes 

breath  ? 

Is  not  his  talk  of  Bacchus  and  of  Venus'  loveliness? 
And  yet  the  fight,  fought  over  cups  by  Centaurs  to  the 

death 
With    Lapithae,    bids    none    exceed    the    bounds    of 

soberness. 
There's  warning  too  in  Euhius'  wrath  against  the  sots 

of  Thrace, 
When  drunkards  make  their  lusts  the  law  defining 

Wrong  and  Right. 
I'll  not  abuse,  bright  Bassareus,  by  tempting  thee,  thy 

grace, 

Nor   drag  the   things,   by   leaves   concealed  as   mys- 
teries, to  light. 
Stay  the  fierce  horns,  the  timbrels  dear  to  Cybele,  that 

lead 
Blind   Love   of    Self — self-blinded   self-idolatry — and 

Pride— 

The  Vanity  that  all  too  high  uplifts  its  empty  head, 
And  faithless  Faith  that  publishes  what  glass  itself 
would  hide. 


27 

Od.  1. 19 

THE  cruel  mother  of  the  Loves,  and  Theban  Semele's 
winged  Son, 
And  sportive  License  call  me  back  to  wars  I   fought 

in  bygone  days. 
It   fires — that    sheen   of   Glycera's   grace,   more   purely 

bright  than  Parian  stone! 
It  fires — her  pretty  petulance :   her    face    that    dazzles 

eyes  that  gaze! 
Venus  has  flung  herself  on  me  from  Cyprus,  nor  would 

have  me  sing 
Of  Parthian  fighting  as  he  flies,  of  Scyths,  of  things 

that  matter  not. 
Place    me    a    live    turf    here,    my    boys,    vervain    and 

incense;  aye,  and  bring 
Two-year  old  wine.     A  victim    slain,    she'll    come    in 

gentler  mood,  I  wot. 

Od.  I.  20 

WINE  of  a  common  Sabine  brand 
In  moderate  cups  your  thirst  shall  slake — 
Wine  stored  and  sealed  by  my  own  hand 

In  an  old  jar  of  Grecian  make, 
When  from  the  theatre  rang  out 

Your  praise,  dear  knight  Maecenas,  till 
Your  native  banks  returned  the  shout, 

And  echoes  laughed  from  Vatican  hill. 
Then  wine  from  a  Calenian  press, 

And  Caecuban,  shall  cheer  your  soul ; 
Falernian  grapes,  I  must  confess, 

And  Formian,  temper  not  my  bowl. 


28 

Od.1.21 

YOUNG   maidens,    sing   Diana's  might; 
Sing,  boys,  of  Cynthius  ever-young; 
Of  Leto,  too,  the  heart's  delight 

Of  Jove  supreme,  be  anthems  sung. 
Sing,  maidens,  how  Diana  loves 

Streams  and  the  forest's  leafery, 
Or  of  dark  Erymanthus'  groves, 

Or  where  green  Cragus  towers  on  high. 
Praise  Tempe,  boys,  and  Delos  where 

Phoebus  was  born,  with  lay  for  lay; 
Sing  how  his  quivered  shoulders  bear 

His  brother's  lyre,  in  twin  display. 
From  princely  Caesar  and  our  State, 

Moved  by  your  prayer,  he  shall  expel 
War,  famine,  plague — sad  dooms  of  fate — 

To  lands  where  Mede  and  Briton  dwell. 

Od.  I.  22 

WHOSE  life  is  whole  and  pure  of  sin, 
He  needs  no  Moorish  javelin, 
Fuscus,  nor  bow,  nor  quiver-load 
Of  poisoned  arrows  for  the  road : 
Whether  he  wills  to  voyage  o'er 
The  boiling  Syrtes,  or  explore 
Rude  Caucasus,  or  tracts  untrod, 
Washed  by  Hydaspes'  storied  flood. 
For  in  a  Sabine  wood  one  day 
I  sang  of  Lalage;  away 
Went  all  my  cares ;  I  wandered  free ; 


29 

A  wolf  saw  me,  and  fled  from  me, 

Nor  harmed  me — such  a  monster  as 

Oak-groves  of  warlike  Daunias 

Breed  not,  and  Juba's  land  may  nurse 

Lions,  but  rears  not  such  a  curse. 

Set  me  where  some  dead  desert  sees 

No  tree  refreshed  by  summer  breeze — 

A  quarter  of  the  world  that  lies 

In  mists  beneath  unkindly  skies : 

Set  me  beneath  the  too  near  car 

Of  Phoebus,  where  no  dwellings  are, 

Yet  will  I  love  my  Lalage — 

Her  sweet  laugh,  her  sweet  causerie.        <•£, 

Od.  I.  23 

CHLOE,  you  always  fly  from  me 
Just  like  a  fawn,  that  heedlessly 

Has  lost,  and  seeks  to  find 
On  pathless  hills  its  mother  dear, 
With  many  a  vain  and  empty  fear 

Of  leaves  and  whispering  wind. 
For  whether  the  glad  month  of  May 
Has  brought  its  frolic  winds  to  play 

And  rustle  thro'  the  trees, 
Or  lizards  green  have  pushed  their  way 
Thro'  bramble-bushes,  as  they  stray, 

It  quakes  in  heart  and  knees. 
Yet  my  pursuit  of  you  is  not 
That  of  a  tigress  fierce,  or  what 

A  desert  lion's  rage 

Threatens;  you  need  your  mother's  care 
No  longer,  Chloe,  for  you  are 

Of  marriageable  age. 


30 

Od.1.24 

WHAT   thought  of   shame  could   bound   our   fond 
regret 

For  one  so  dear?    Melpomene,  whose  cithern 
And  liquid  voice  are  of  the  Sire  Eterne, 

Prompt  us  a  dirge  to  pay  our  sorrow's  debt. 

What,  can  it  be  that  on  Quintilius  weighs 
Eternal  sleep?    Ah,  who  shall  find  his  peer? 
Good  Faith  and  Right,  twin  sisters,  Truth  sincere, 

And  Honour — can  they  ever  match  his  praise? 

True  souls — how  many! — wept  his  untimely  end; 
None  more  than  you,  my  Virgil,  who  with  vain 
Prayers  claim  him  of  the  high  Gods,  and  complain 

That  not  thus  was  he  given  you  as  a  friend. 

But  even,  if,  with  more  persuasive  art 
Than  Thracian  Orpheus  ever  owned,  you  swayed 
A  lyre  that  trees  obeyed,  the  empty  shade 

Would  nevermore  feel  life-blood  thrill  its  heart, 

That  Mercury,  too  deaf  to  hear  our  cry, 
And  roll  back  fate,  has  grimly  waved  below 
To  his  dark  flock.    'Tis  hard;  yet,  even  so, 

Patience  can  ease  what  naught  can  remedy. 

Od.1.25 

(Omitted) 


31 


Od.  I.  26 


THE  Muses'  friend,  I'll  cast  all  fear 
And  grief  to  wanton  winds,  to  bear 

Where  Cretan  billows  roll, 
Utterly  careless  what  dread  king 
Rules  'neath  the  cold  North,  or  what  thing 

Frights  Tiridates*  soul. 
O  thou,  to  whom  fresh  springs  are  dear, 
Nymph  of  Pimplea's  fountain  clear, 

Weave  of  thy  grace  a  wreath; 
Weave  it  for  Lamia,  my  friend; 
Weave  it  of  sunny  flowers  that  blend 

Thy  sweetness  with  their  breath. 
Honours  that  I  can  pay  are  naught, 
Apart  from  thee — the  gracious  thought 

That  tunes  my  new  cithern; 
Bid  it  with  Lesbian  quill — the  gift 
Were  worthy  thee  and  thine — uplift 

This  man  to  life  eterne. 

Od.  I.  27 

TO  fight  with  goblets  is  a  Thracian  game; 
For  pleasure  were  they  made — for  jollity; 
Out  on  the  barbarous  custom !    Do  not  shame 

With  bloody  brawls  good  Liber's  modesty. 
'Twixt  Persian  glaive  and  banquets  brightly  lit, 

What  an  enormous  gap !    Gap  let  it  rest. 
Stay,  friends,  your  impious  noise ;  away  with  it, 

And  keep  your  elbows  to  your  cushions  prest. 
What,  am  I  too  to  drink  a  share  today 

Of  strong  Falernian?    Then  let  yon  boy, 


32 

Opuntian  Megilla's  brother,  say 

What  wound,  what  shaft,  has  been  his  fatal  joy. 
Unwilling  are  you?    Well,  not  otherwise 

Will  I  turn  toper.    Whatsoever  Queen 
You  serve,  she  will  not  smirch  you  in  our  eyes, 

For,  if  your  love  be  wrong,  it  is  not  mean. 
Come,  trust  your  secret  to  safe  ears  and  true. 

Ah,  hapless  one,  what  an  abyss  of  shame, 
What  a  Charybdis,  had  inveigled  you, 

Poor  boy — and  you  worthy  a  better  flame! 
What  witch,  what  wizard,  with  Thessalian  drugs, 

What  God,  will  have  the  power  to  set  you  free? 
Scarcely  from  this  threefold  Chimaera's  hugs 

Will  Pegasus  win  you  your  liberty. 

Od.1.28 

"VOU  measured  ocean,  earth,  sands  numberless, 
•*•      Archytas;  now  a  little  dust  bestowed 
Upon  your  ashes  keeps  you  in  duress 

By  Matine  shore ;  nor  boots  it  that  you  rode 
In  spirit  thro'  the  skies,  and  clomb  the  vault 

Of  heaven,  for  you  were  bound  to  die  at  last. 
So  too  died  Pelops'  sire,  tho'  guest  exalt 

Of  Gods;  so  into  air  Tithonus  passed; 
So  Minos  too,  Jove's  confidant;  and  so 

Panthous'  son  in  Tartarus  yet  stays 
Perforce,  to  Orcus  sent  again,  what  tho' — 

The  shield  he  claimed  witnessed  his  Trojan  days — 
Black  death  had  naught  of  him  but  skin  and  nerves, 

Who  to  your  mind  was  an  exponent  high 
Of  Nature's  truths.    Once  and  for  ever  serves 

Death's  path;  one  night  waits  all  humanity. 


33 

Others  the  Furies  give  to  glad  Mars'  eyes ; 

The  greedy  sea  on  sailors'  bones  is  fed; 
Old  lives  and  young  make  one  long  sacrifice ; 

Persephone  never  spared  a  single  head. 

Me  too  slew  Notus  on  the  Illyrian  sea — 

Notus  of  prone  Orion  comrade  swift. 
But  you,  O  sailor,  grudge  not  churlishly 

My  bones  and  head  unburied  a  small  gift 
Of  shifting  sand.     So  may  you  ever  be 

Safe,  tho'  Venusia's  woods  be  tempest-struck; 
However  Eurus  threat  the  Western  sea: 

And  Jove,  its  fount,  grant  you  good  meed  of  luck, 
And  Neptune,  blest  Tarentum's  sure  defence. 

Think  you  it  were  a  little  thing  to  do 
A  deed  would  hurt  your  children's  innocence? 

Nay,  on  yourself  may  fall  the  vengeance  due, 
And  haught  requital.     Not  in  vain  I  pray; 

No  expiation  will  your  debt  release; 
Your  haste,  I  guess,  will  brook  this  slight  delay; 

Cast  but  three  casts  of  dust;  then  go  in  peace. 

Od.L29 

WHAT,  Iccius?    Is  your  heart  now  set 
On  Arabs'  wealth,  and  would  you  wage 
On  Saba's  kings,  untamed  as  yet, 

Fierce  wars,  and  curb  the  Parthians'  rage 
By  shackles?     What  barbarian  fair, 

Her  lover  slain,  your  beck  shall  bide? 
What  boy,  from  palace  brought,  with  hair 

Perfumed,  shall  stand  your  cup  beside, 
Once  trained  to  bend  the  Seric  bow, 

His  father  bent?    Who  could  deny 


34 

That  up  steep  mounts  rivers  may  flow, 
And  Tiber  turn  back,  when  you  try 

To  change  for  Spanish  mail  books  bought 
On  all  sides — visions  high  of  truth, 

By  Stoics  and  Socratics  taught, 
And  break  the  promise  of  your  youth? 

od.i.3o    .: 

OF  Cnidos  and  of  Paphos  Queen, 
From  thy  loved  Cypros,  Venus,  come, 
And  make  the  shrine,  that  Glycera's  bene 

And  incense  offer  thee,  thy  home. 
Bring  too  thy  Codling  of  the  heart, 

Graces  ungirt,  thy  company 
Of  Nymphs,  and  Youth,  that  lacks  apart 
From  thee  all  charm,  and  Mercury. 

Od.  I.  31 

WHAT  does  his  bard  ask  of  divine 
Apollo  in  his  new-built  fane? 
What — as  he  pours  cups  of  new  wine? 

Not  rich  Sardinia's  wealth  of  grain : 
Not  India's  gold  or  ivory: 

Not  hot  Calabria's  pastures,  gay 
With  herds :  not  lands  where  quietly 

Still  Liris  frets  its  silent  way. 
Let  those,  whose  luck  it  is  to  own 

Calenian  vineyards,  prune  their  vines, 
That  so  some  merchant  of  renown 

May  drink  from  golden  cups  their  wines, 
For  Syrian  wares.     Heaven's  favourite,  he, 

Because,  forsooth,  three  times  a  year, 


35 

Or  four,  he  sails  successfully 

The  Atlantic  main.     I  have  for  cheer 

My  olives,  chicory,  mallows  light. 
Grant  me,  Apollo,  for  the  rest, 

Contentment,  health,  sound  wits  and  bright, 
An  honoured  eld,  by  music  blest. 

Od.1.32 

T I  'HEY  bid  us  sing.    If  aught,  my  lyre, 
•*•      We  two  have  played  in  shelters  dim, 
Idly,  come,  prompt  a  Latin  hymn, 

Of  which  the  years  shall  never  tire. 

Thee  first  the  Lesbian,  bold  in  war, 

Tuned,  who,  as  battles  came  and  passed, 
Or  oft  as  he  had  moored  at  last 

His  storm-tossed  bark  on  the  wet  shore, 

Would  sing  of  Liber,  and  the  wise 
Muses,  of  Venus,  to  whose  arm 
Ever  the  Boy  clings,  of  the  charm 

Of  Lycus'  dark  hair  and  dark  eyes. 

Pride  of  Apollo's  heart,  and  dear 
To  Jove  at  banquets,  solace  blest 
Of  toil,  whene'er  I  make  request 

Aright,  be  kind,  my  lyre,  and  hear. 

Od.  I.  33 

THAT,  Albius,  too  bitter  memories 
Of  Glycera's  unkindness  may  not  break 
Your  heart,  and  prompt  too  mournful  elegies 

Telling  why,  for  some  younger  lover's  sake, 
Her  faith  is  falsed,  think  how  Lycoris,  fair 
With  narrow  brows,  for  Cyrus  burns,  while  he 


36 

Turns  to  coy  Pholoe;  but  roes  will  pair 

Sooner  with  wolves  Apulian,  than  will  she 
Sin  for  a  lover  whom  she  reckons  vile. 

So  wills  it  Venus — she,  whose  bronzen  yoke 
Joins  forms  and  souls  unequal  all  the  while. 

Aye,  such  her  will,  and  such  her  cruel  joke! 
As  for  myself,  what  time  a  better  fate 

Sought  me,  I  was  enthralled  by  Myrtale, 
The  freedwoman — a  soul  more  passionate 

Than  waves  that  fret  Calabria — Hadria's  sea. 

Od.  I.  34          . 

A  CHARY  worshipper  of  Gods  and  rare, 
When,  expert  in  a  mad  philosophy, 
I  strayed,  now  must  I  put  about,  and  bear 

Up  for  the  port  I  left,  and  once  more  try 
Forsaken  paths;   for  the  Sky- Father,  who 

Is  wont  to  part  the  thunder-clouds  on  high 
With  lightnings,  lately  drove  thro'  heaven's  clear  blue 

His  thundering  steeds  and  flying  car,  whereby 
The  sluggish  earth  and  wandering  rivers,  aye, 

And  Styx,  and  the  abominable  Hoe 
Of  Taenarus,  and  Atlas,  boundary 

Of  the  wide  world,  staggered,  reel  to  and  fro. 
God   can    change   heights    for   depths :    can   lower   the 
proud, 

And  raise  the  mean ;  as  Harpy  on  the  wing, 
From  this  man's  head  Fortune,  with  hurtlings  loud, 

Snatches  his  crown,  to  crown  another  king. 


37 

Od.  I.  35 

GODDESS,  who  rulest  Antium  dear: 
Who  can'st  from  lowest  depths  uplift 
Mortals,  or  change,  by  sudden  shift, 

Triumphal  car  to  funeral  bier, 

Thee  the  poor  rustic  courts  with  bene 
Urgent;  who  dares  Carpathian  sea 
In  bark  Bithynian,  worships  thee, 

Whoe'er  he  be,  as  Ocean's  Queen. 

States,  cities,  Latium's  chivalry, 
Fierce  Dacian,  nomad  Scythian, 
Mothers  of  kings  barbarian, 

Empurpled  monarchs,  bow  to  thee, 

Lest  in  the  dust  thy  proud  foot  lay 
The  Column  of  the  State,  and  cry 
Of  thronging  crowds  bid  laggards  fly 

To  arms !     To  arms ! — and  break  their  sway. 

Before  thee  stalks  stern  Destiny; 
Her  bronzen  hands  hold  grapples  dread, 
And  beam-like  nails,  and  molten  lead, 

And  wedges — fate's  machinery. 

Hope  loves  thee;  aye,  and  clothed  in  white, 
Faith,  a  rare  Grace,  nor  quits  thy  side 
Whene'er  in  wrath  from  homes  of  pride, 

With  changed  attire,  thou  takest  flight. 

But  faithless  crowd,  and  perjured  quean, 
Fall  back,  and  when  the  cask  is  dry, 
But  for  its  dregs,  friends  fickle  fly, 

To  share  the  yoke  too  false,  too  mean. 

Keep  Caesar  safe,  what  time  he  goes 
To  Britain,  at  the  world's  end  set, 
And  our  new  levies,  raised  to  threat 


38 

The  Indian  seas  and  Eastern  foes. 
Shame  on  the  scars  set  upon  kin 

By  kin !    An  iron  age,  what  have  we 

Held  sacred — what  impiety 
Left  unattempted?     From  what  sin 
Has  fear  of  Heaven  made  Rome's  youth  flee? 

What  altars  has  it  spared?    Anneal 

In  a  new  forge  our  blunted  steel, 
For  Arabs  and  Massagetae. 

Od.  1.36 

\\7lTH  incense,  lyre,  and  votive  calf,  will  we 
W       Gladly  appease  the  Gods  of  Numida — 
The  Guardian  Presences,  whose  ministry 

Has  brought  him  safe  from  far  Hesperia. 
Full  many  a  kiss  he  shares  with  trusty  feres ; 

With  Lamia  most  of  all,  remembering 
How,  in  the  long-ago  of  boyhood's  years, 

One  leader  led  them  both — one  school-boy  king ; 
And  how  they  donned  their  togas  side  by  side. 

Let  the  fair  day  be  marked  with  whitest  chalk; 
Let  the  broached  amphora  not  grudge  its  pride, 

And  at  the  Salian  romp  let  no  foot  baulk. 
Nor  let  that  toper,  Damalis,  surpass 

Bassus  at  swallowing  cupfuls  Thracian-wise ; 
Let  roses,  lilies,  too  short-lived,  alas ! 

And  parsley  green,  grace  the  festivities. 
All  eyes  will  yearn  for  Damalis,  but  she 

To  her  new  paramour  will  stick,  I  wot : 
Clinging  to  him  as  ivy  clings  to  tree — 

Tendrils,  whose  clasp  is  as  a  lovers'  knot. 


39 

Od.1.37    .../     . 

THUMPERS !     Let  free  foot  beat  the  earth  f 
*-*    To  drink,  dance,  honour  the  sublime 
Gods'  seats  with  Salian  feasts  and  mirth — 

Comrades,  for  this  'tis  time,  high  time. 
Ere  this  it  had  been  sin  to  bring 

Caecuban  from  forbears'  store-room, 
While  the  mad  queen  was  purposing 

Our  Capitol's  fall,  our  empire's  doom. 
She  with  her  eunuch-horde,  infect 

With  foul  disease,  in  her  mad  pride, 
Drunk  with  good  fortune,  could  expect 

Anything.     But  her  madness  died 
When  of  her  battleships  scarce  one 

Escaped  the  flames,  and  Caesar's  near 
Pursuit  pressed  her,  and  stamped  upon 

Her  wine-besotted  brain  true  fear. 
His  triremes,  as  she  fled,  gave  chase,         .          :  • 

As  falcon  stoops  to  dove,  as  fleet          •     .  :  • 
Hunter  hunts  hares  in  wintry  Thrace,     •. ••.-.      •.-•':• 

To  catch  and  chain,  in  vengeance  meet,      .  : 
This  fateful  monster.    Ah,  but  she  ;     ;    . 

Claimed  nobler  death,  nor  feared  the, sword. 
With  woman's  fear,  nor  secretly  ,  •    . 

Sailed  off  some  distant  coast  toward.         -  :    • 
She  saw  her  home  in  ruins  laid,  ..      •  •, 

Nor  trembled ;  resolute  to  take    .  .      , 

Its  deadly  poison,  unafraid  . 

She  grasped  and  held  the  deadly  snake..  .    ... 


40 

The  prouder  for  her  will  to  die, 

She  grudged  Rome's  ships,  this  haughty  dame, 
That  she,  paraded  to  Rome's  eye 

A  discrowned  queen,  should  flaunt  Rome's  fame. 

Od.  I.  38 

DISPLAYS,  that  Persians  love,  I  hate ; 
Lime-braided  chaplets  I  detest; 
It  makes  no  matter  where  the  late 

Rose  lingers;  stay,  my  boy,  your  quest. 
Just  myrtle — that's  enough;  don't  think 

To  better  it;  it  suits,  as  wreath, 
You,  as  you  serve,  me,  as  I  drink, 

My  wine  this  close-trained  vine  beneath. 

Od.11.1 

THE  civil  war,  that  in  Metellus'  year 
Began — its  seeds,  faults,  phases :  Fortune's  game : 
Chiefs'  dangerous  alliances :  the  smear 

Of  kindred  blood  on  arms — an  impious  shame 
Not  yet  atoned — that  is  your  theme,  a  work 

Beset  by  risks,  by  one  continual  threat; 
Your  feet  are,  as  it  were,  on  fires  that  lurk 

'Neath  treacherous  ashes — fires  that  smoulder  yet. 
Withdraw  awhile  your  Muse  of  Tragedy 

Austere  from  theatres,  and  then  anon, 
When  you  have  shaped  your  public  history, 

You  shall  resume  your  noble  theme  upon 
Buskin  Cecropian — star  of  oratory 

For  sad  defendants,  or  in  curial 
Debates,  my  Pollio,  whom  your  victory 


41 

Delmatic  crowned  with  bays  perennial. 
E'en  now  our  ears  with  clarions'  threatening  blare 

Are  deafened;  even  now  trumpets  scream  out 
Their  challenge;  even  now  arms'  fiery  glare 

Scares  horse  and  horseman  into  headlong  rout. 
Aye,  and  I  seem  to  hear  of  leaders  wight 

Befouled  with  dust  ennobling:  of  the  whole 
Wide  world,  and  all  its  things,  in  bloody  fight 

Subdued,  save  only  Cato's  stubborn  soul. 
Juno,  and  Afric's  friendly  deities, 

Who  left  the  land,  as  powerless  to  aid, 
Or  to  avenge,  offered  in  sacrifice 

The  victors'  grandsons  to  Jugurtha's  shade. 
What  plain  is  there  but  what,  by  Latin  gore 

Fattened,  is  witness,  by  the  tombs  it  bears, 
To  impious  battles,  and  the  crash  which  tore 

Down  Italy,  and  rang  in  Parthian  ears? 
What  gulf,  what  streams,  world  over,  will  you  find 

That  know  not  of  our  wretched  strife?     What  main 
Has  blood  of  Daunians  not  incarnadined? 

What  shore  is  unpolluted  by  its  stain? 
But  lest,  my  sportive  Muse,  you  should  forget 

Your  jokes,  and  start  a  Cean  dirge  again, 
Seek  we  some  Dionaean  grot,  and  let 

A  lighter  quill  temper  your  coming  strain. 

Od.  II.  2 

AS  silver,  hid  in  greedy  earth, 
Crispus  Sallustius,  has  no  sheen, 
So  metals  have  for  you  no  worth, 

Unless  use  makes  their  value  seen. 
For  aye  shall  Proculeius'  name 
Be  known  for  fatherly  sympathy 


42 

With  brethren ;  him  eternal  Fame 

With  tireless  wing  shall  bear  on  high. 
Larger  you'ld  make  your  empire's  reach 

Subduing  self,  than  if,  made  one, 
Gades  and  Libya — aye,  each 

Carthage — bowed  down  to  you  alone. 
By  self-indulgence  dropsy  grows, 

Nor  casts  out  thirst,  till  from  the  pale 
Body  the  watery  languor  flows, 

And  from  the  veins  the  exciting  bale. 
Unlike  the  crowd,  true  Virtue  parts 

Prahates,  throned  on  Cyrus'  throne, 
From  the  blest  roll  of  happy  hearts, 

And  bids  the  people's  voice  disown 
False  titles,  granting  honours  true — 

Sure  bays,  abiding  sovereignty — 
To  him  who,  with  heaped  wealth  in  view, 

Passes  it,  unregarded,  by. 

Od.11.3 

REMEMBER,  Dellius,  doomed  to  die 
Some  day,  to  keep  a  level  mind 
When  times  are  hard,  nor  pridefully 

Exalt  your  horn  when  Fate  seems  kind — 
Aye,  doomed  to  die,  whether  each  dawn 

Renews  your  griefs,  or  days  of  rest 
Comfort  you,  couched  on  some  far  lawn, 

With  old  Falernian  of  the  best. 
Why  does  white  poplar  interlace 

With  mighty  pine  its  welcoming  shade? 
Why  does  fleet  rivulet  toil  to  race 

Adown  the  maze  its  frets  have  made? 


43 

Bid  them  bring  hither  wines,  nards,  blooms — 

Rose-blooms,  sweet  all  too  brief  a  space — 
While  means  and  youth  and  the  dark  looms 

Of  the  three  Sisters  grant  us  grace. 
You'll  leave  parked  hall  and  villa  fair, 

With  yellow  Tiber  rolling  by; 
All  that  you  bought  you'll  leave;  your  heir 

Will  own  the  wealth  you  heaped  on  high. 
Rich  scion  of  Inachus,  or  poor 

And  lowliest-born,  with  heaven's  bare  ceil 
For  roof — no  matter,  Orcus  dour 

Will  set  on  you  his  ruthless  heel. 
One  bourn  awaits  us  all ;  each  lot, 

Tossed  in  the  urn,  or  soon,  or  late, 
Leaps  forth,  and — doom  that  changes  not — 

Exiles  us  on  the  bark  of  Fate. 

Od.  II.  4 

LEST,  Xanthias  Phoceus,  you  should  be  ashamed 
That  a  mere  handmaid  has  become  your  queen, 
Think  how  of  yore  the  slave  Briseis  tamed 

The  proud  Achilles,  by  her  snowy  sheen. 
Ravished  Tecmessa's  beauty  thrilled  and  won 

Ajax,  the  son  of  Telamon,  her  lord; 
E'en  in  his  hour  of  triumph,  Atreus'  son 

Was  love-fired  by  a  captive  of  his  sword, 
When  the  barbarians,  worsted  in  the  fray, 

Had  fall'n  to  their  Thessalian  conqueror, 
And  Hector's  death  left  Troy  an  easier  prey 

To  Hellas'  hosts,  all  weary  of  the  war. 
Blonde  Phyllis'  parents  may,  for  all  you  know, 

Honour  their  son-in-law,  as  born  of  high 


44 

Descent;  of  royal  stock  she  is,  I  trow, 

And  mourns  unjust  Penates'  injury. 
Be  sure  that  she,  your  mistress,  has  no  strain 

In  her  of  lowborn  rascaldom  or  shame: 
That  one  so  faithful,  so  averse  from  gain, 

Was  never  born  of  womb,  would  smirch  your  name. 
Heart-whole  I  praise  her  arms,  her  bonny  face, 

Her  shapely  ankles;  spurn  all  jealous  fears 
Of  one  who,  hurrying  onward  in  life's  race, 

Has  run  the  lustre  closing  forty  years. 

Od.  II.  5 

(Omitted) 

Od.  II.  6 

SEPTIMIUS,  who  with  me  would  fare 
To  Gades,  or  Cantabria  yet 
Untamed,  or  the  rude  Syrtes,  where 

The  Moorish  billows  ever  fret : 
Be  Tibur,  by  an  Argive  guest 

Founded,  the  home  of  my  old  age — 
From  war,  from  sea,  from  trails,  a  rest, 

After  life's  weary  pilgrimage. 
But,  if  barred  thence  by  fate  accurst, 

I'll  seek  Galaesus,  pleasant  aye 
To  skin-clad  sheep,  and  fields  that  erst 

Owned  Dorian  Phalanthus'  sway. 
That  nook  of  all  earth's  nooks  for  me 

Has  charms,  where  with  Hymettus  vies 
The  honey,  and  each  olive  tree 

From  green  Venafrum  claims  the  prize. 


45 

Jove  grants  a  lingering  springtime  there, 

And  winters  mild;  there  Aulon,  host 
Of  fruitful  Bacchus  has  small  care 

Of  what  Falernian  grapes  may  boast. 
That  spot,  those  happy  hills,  desire 

Our  presence;  there  shall  you  commend, 
With  friendship's  tear,  beside  his  pyre, 

The  ashes  of  your  poet-friend. 

Od.  II.  7 

POMPEY,   who    faced   with   me   in   countless   fights, 
When  Brutus  led  our  war,  supremest  odds, 
Who  has  restored  you,  with  full  civic  rights, 

To  skies  Italian,  and  your  country's  Gods, 
O  earliest  of  my  comrades,  at  whose  side 

I  often  broke  with  wine  the  lingering 
Day's  irk,  my  temples  wreathed  with  chaplet's  pride, 

My  hair  with  Syrian  unguent  glistering? 
With  you  I  shared  Philippi's  headlong  rout, 

My  shield,  in  haste  ignoble,  flung  away, 
When  valour  broke,  and  threatening  boasts  died  out, 

As  chins  rubbed  shameful  dust.    Ah,  well-a-day! 
Me,  in  my  terror,  Mercury  bore  fast, 

Veiled  in  thick  mist,  thoro'  the  grim  mellay; 
But  you  the  battle-wave  sucked  back,  and  cast 

With  boiling  surf  again  into  the  fray. 
Pay  then  the  feast  that  you  are  bound  to  pay 

To  Jove,  and,  wearied  with  the  toils  of  war, 
Come,  and  recline  beneath  my  garden  bay, 

Nor  spare  the  casks  that  wait  you  in  my  store. 
Fill  goblets  bright  with  cheering  Massic  high ; 

From  urns  capacious  pour  perfumery; 


46 

Whose  task  is  it  to  hurry  up  and  tie 
Chaplets  of  lissom  parsley,  or,  maybe, 

Of  myrtle?    Whom  will  Venus  now  declare 
The  master  of  the  feast?    My  revelry 

Shall  match  Edonians'.    It  is  sweet,  I  swear, 
When  friends  return,  to  revel  furiously. 

Od.  II.  8 

HAD  punishment  in  any  wyse, 
Barine,  judged  your  perjuries: 
Had  one  black  tooth  or  fingernail 
Disfigured  you  by  just  entail, 
I'd  trust  you ;  but  you  bind  upon 
Your  faithless  head  vows,  and  anon 
Step  forth  more  radiant  for  your  pains, 
The  common  darling  of  our  swains. 
You  cheat — and  profit  by  each  lie — 
Your  mother's  dust,  the  vasty  sky, 
Night's  silent  stars,  the  Gods,  whose  breath 
Is  life  beyond  the  chill  of  death. 
Venus  herself  laughs  at  all  this ; 
The  simple  Nymphs  laugh  too,  ywis, 
And  Cupid  fierce,  on  blood-stained  stone 
Whetting  his  fire-darts,  one  by  one. 
Aye,  and  to  you  too,  as  they  grow 
Up,  all  our  lads  as  bondslaves  bow; 
And  earlier  suitors  threat,  but  come 
Back  to  their  impious  lady's  home. 
Mothers  of  striplings  fear  your  smiles; 
Thrifty  old  fathers  dread  your  wiles; 
And  newly  wed  brides  sadly  say, 
"Her  breath  will  keep  our  grooms  away." 


47 

Od.  II.  9 

NOT  always  fall  the  clouds  in  rain 
On  roughened  fields ;  not  without  end 
Do  tempests  vex  the  Caspian  main 

With  gusts;  nor,  Valgius,  my  friend, 
The  whole  year  round  stands  motionless 

Ice  on  Armenian  plains,  nor  groan 
Garganus'  oaks  beneath  the  stress 

Of  northern  blasts  that  strip  the  roan. 
But  you  with  dirges  day  and  night 

Harp  on  lost  Mystes;  Vesper's  rise 
Checks  not  your  love-plaints,  nor  his  flight 

From  the  swift  sun,  when  night-time  dies. 
And  yet  thrice-aged  Nestor  stayed 

His  tears  for  loved  Antilochus ; 
Parents  and  Phrygian  sisters  made 

Not  endless  moan  for  Troilus, 
Their  stripling  lad ;  cease,  cease  at  length, 

Your  weak  complaints,  and  rather  hymn 
Augustus  Caesar — how  his  strength 

Has  won  fresh  trophies — how  to  him 
Frost-bound  Niphates  bows,  and  how 

The  Parthian  stream,  with  lowered  pride, 
Rolls  smaller  floods,  and,  lessened  now, 

Within  strait  bounds  Geloni  ride. 

Od.  II.  10 

LICINIUS,  would  you  live  aright, 
Tempt  not  the  high  seas  evermore, 
Nor,  fearing  tempests,  in  your  fright 
Too  closely  hug  the  dangerous  shore. 


48 

Who  loves  the  golden  mean  is  free 

And  safe  from  grime — the  grime  a  house 
Harbours  in  eld;  his  modesty 

Earns  not  the  envy  mansions  rouse. 
The  mighty  pine  is  oftenest 

Storm-tossed ;  the  higher  a  turret's  height, 
The  worse  its  fall;  it  is  its  crest, 

The  mountain's  top,  that  lightnings  smite. 
A  well-schooled  heart,  when  things  look  black, 

Hopes  for  a  change :  when  all  seems  gay, 
Fears  change.    Jove  brings  rude  winters  back ; 

Aye,  but  he  also  ends  their  stay. 
Bad  luck  today?     Well,  but  how  long — 

How  many  days — will  it  be  so? 
Phoebus  awakes  his  Muse  to  song 

At  times,  nor  always  bends  his  bow. 
In  times  of  straitness  manifest 

A  hero's  heart ;  shrink  not,  nor  quail ; 
Yet  take  in  sail — safety  is  best — 

Before  too  favouring  a  gale. 

Od.  II.  11 

AT  fierce  Cantabrian,  what  the  Scythian  braves, 
Parted  by  Hadria's  intervening  waves, 
Plot,  cease,  Hirpinus  Quinctius,  to  enquire, 
Nor  vex  your  soul  with  passionate  desire 
To  sate  life's  little  need.    From  one  and  all 
The  charm  of  beardless  youth  flies  past  recall, 
As  hoary  eld  withers  the  wanton  heart, 
And  bids  the  sleep  that  comes  at  call  depart. 
Not  always  does  the  self-same  glory  grace 
Spring-flowers,  nor  wears  the  blushing  moon  one  face. 
Why  with  the  counsels  of  eternity 


49 

Weary  your  soul,  too  small  for  things  so  high? 

Why  not,  just  as  we  are,  at  ease  beneath 

Tall  plane-tree  or  this  pine,  with  the  sweet  breath 

Of  roses  in  our  gray  locks,  redolent 

Of  nard  Assyrian,  drink  to  our  content 

Wine,  while  we  may?    All  gnawing  cares  are  chased 

By  Euhius.    What  boy,  with  hastened  haste, 

Will  quench  the  fire  of  our  fiery 

Falernian,  from  the  brook  that  hurries  by  ? 

Who  from  her  home  will  draw  that  damsel  shy, 

Lyde?     Come,  bid  her  bring  immediately 

Her  ivory  lyre,  with  neatly  knotted  hair, 

After  the  manner  of  a  Spartan  fair. 

Od.  11.12  I 

YOU  would  not  wish  that  to  my  peaceful  lyre 
I  should  set  songs  of  Hannibal,  the  dire, 
Or  fierce  Numantia's  long  tale  of  war, 
Or  seas  Sicilian  red  with  Punic  gore, 
Or  savage  Lapithae,  or  Hylaeus  flushed 
With  wine,  or  Earth's  gigantic  offspring,  crushed 
By  Hercules'  strong  hand,  at  whose  attack 
Old  Saturn's  bright  home  quaked  in  fear  of  wrack, 
Maecenas ;  you  yourself  more  worthily 
Will  tell  of  Caesar  in  prose  history, 
His  fights  and  feats — how  thro'  Rome's  long  parades- 
With  necks  enchained  proud  kings  passed  to  the  shadef 
For  me,  my  Muse  would  have  me  sweetly  praise 
Licymnia,  queen  of  love — what  sparkling  rays 
Flash  from  her  eyes :  how  true  her  heart  and  leal 
To  mutual  love — its  claim,  and  its  appeal. 
It  misbecomes  her  not  in  any  wyse 
To  dance  in  choirs,  to  bandy  pleasantries, 


50 

To  reach  out  arms  to  maidens  blithe  and  gay, 
Who  join  the  throng  on  Dian's  festal  day. 
Would  you  for  all  that  rich  Achaemenes 
Possessed :  for  Phrygian  Mygdon's  granaries : 
For  Arabs'  homes,  well  stored  with  treasures  fair, 
Barter  one  tress  of  your  Licymnia's  hair, 
When  to  your  burning  lips  she  bends  awry 
Her  neck,  or  shuns,  with  easy  coquetry, 
Kisses,  whose  ravishment  is  more  to  her 
Than  you — and  she  may  be  first  ravisher? 

Od.  II.  13      ,. 

ON  an  ill-omened  day,  accursed  tree, 
Did  your  first  planter  plant  you,  and  profane 
The  hand  that  reared  you  to  the  infamy 

Of  country-side,  and  to  descendants'  bane. 
I  could  believe  that  one  so  ruthless  might 

Have  broke  a  parent's  neck,  and  stained,  maybe, 
With  blood  of  sleeping  guest,  slain  in  the  night, 

His  inmost  chamber ;  Colchic  poisons  he 
Handled,  and  whatsoever  any  one 

Has  anywhere  planned  of  sin,  who  on  my  farm 
Set  you,  curst  trunk,  to  fall  one  day  upon 

A  master's  head,  who  never  did  you  harm. 
No  man  from  hour  to  hour  takes  proper  thought 

What  he  should  shun ;  the  Punic  mariner 
Fears  the  mad  Bosphorus,  but  counts  as  naught 

All  other  risks,  no  matter  whence  or  where. 
The  soldier  fears  the  shafts  shot  in  swift  flight 

By  Parthian  foe ;  the  Parthian  fears  the  gyves 
And  prison  of  Rome ;  but,  unforeseen,  Death's  might  „ 

Has  ever  snatched,  aye,  and  will  snatch,  men's  lives. 


51 

How  near  were  we  to  seeing  upon  her  throne 

Dark  Proserpine,  aye,  and  the  judgment-seat 
Of  Aeacus,  the  separate  Avalon, 

Where  roam  the  blest,  and  Sappho,  with  her  sweet 
Aeolian  lyre  arraigning  Lesbos'  maids, 

And  you,  Alcaeus,  with  your  golden  quill 
Sounding  a  fuller  elegy  to  the  shades, 

Of  exile's,  war's,  sea's,  woes  complaining  still. 
The  shades  stand  wondering,  as  each  poet  sings 

Songs  worthy  solemn  silence;  but,  with  ear 
Keener  to  drink  in  tales  of  banished  kings 

And  wars,  a  shouldering  crowd  throngs  up  to  hear. 
What  wonder  when,  dazed  by  those  melodies, 

The  hundred-headed  beast  drops  his  ears'  threat, 
And,  in  the  hair  of  the  Eumenides 

Entwined  and  twist,  their  serpents  cease  to  fret. 
Prometheus,  too,  and  Tantalus,  the  base, 

In  the  sweet  sound  forget  their  agonies; 
Nor  does  Orion  longer  care  to  chase 

Lion  that  turns  to  fight,  or  lynx  that  flies. 

Od.  II.  14 

AH,  Postumus,  my  Postumus,  the  fleeting  years  roll 
by; 

Wrinkles  and  ever  nearing  eld  stay  not  for  piety: 
Relentless  they,  relentless  death's  unconquered  tyranny, 
Ah  no ;  tho'  with  three  hecatombs  of  bulls  each  day  you 

try 
To  soften  Pluto's  tearless  heart,    whose  sad   stream's 

custody 

Prisons  thrice  ample  Geryon  and  Tityon,  you  must  die. 
For,   friend,  that   river  must  be  crossed  by  each  and 

every  one 


52 

Of   all    whom    Earth's   large   bounty    feeds   and    rears 

beneath  the  sun : 

By  kings,  by  needy  husbandmen,  by  every  mother's  son. 
Vainly  we  seek  to  shun  the  risks  and  threats  of  bloody 

war: 
The    rage    of    waves    that    swell    and    break    where 

Hadria's  billows  roar ; 
Vainly  we  fear  the  autumnal  blights  that  blow  from 

Afric's  shore. 
No  soul  may  miss  Cocytus'  gloom — the  languid  streams 

that  roil 
Moaning  along:  the  Danaid  brides  whose  shame  naught 

can  assoil : 

Sisyphus,  son  of  Aeolus,  doomed  to  unending  toil. 
Earth,   home,   sweet  wife — these  must  you  leave — aye, 

all  that  you  hold  dear; 
And,  of  the  trees  that  you,  their   short-lived  master, 

cherished  here, 

Only  the  hateful  cypress  shall  at  last  attend  your  bier. 
Your  Caecuban — a  hundred  keys  once  locked  it  in  your 

store — 
A  better  wine  than   sacred  feasts  into  priests'  goblets 

pour — 
A  worthier  heir  shall  drink  it,  and  its  pride  shall  stain 

the  floor. 

Od.II.15 

SOON  regal  piles  will  leave  no  place 
For  farms ;  soon  crowds  will  flock  to  see 
Fishponds  that  claim  a  larger  space 

Than  Lucrine  lake ;  barren  plane-tree 
Will  turn  the  elm  out;  presently 
Will  violets,  myrtles,  the  whole  round 


53 

Of  sweet  flowers,  shed  their  fragrancy 

On  oliveyards,  once  fruitful  ground; 
Dense  laurels  will,  as  shields  upborne, 

Stay  the  sun's  darts.    Far  different 
The  use  of  Romulus,  of  unshorn 

Cato,  of  ancient  precedent. 
Then  private  means  were  small ;  the  State 

Was  rich ;  no  private  colonnade, 
By  ten-foot  rods  delineate, 

Welcomed  the  cool  North  to  its  shade. 
The  casual  sod  might  not  be  tossed 

Aside ;  cities  and  fanes  alone 
Might  be  adorned,  at  public  cost — 

So  said  the  law — with  fresh-hewn  stone. 

Od.  11. 16 

REST  is  the  sailor's  prayer — the  boon 
He  craves,  caught  on  the  Aegean  sea, 
Soon  as  dark  clouds  have  hid  the  moon, 

And  stars  shine  all  uncertainly. 
For  rest  prays  Thrace,  distract  with  war ; 

For  rest  the  quivered  Parthians  cry ; 
For  rest — for  what  nor  purple,  nor 

Rubies,  nor  gold,  Grosphus,  can  buy. 
Nor  wealth,  nor  lictor's  axe,  can  rout 

The  heart's  tumultuous  agonies, 
Nor  chase  the  cares  that  flit  about 

The  fretted  roofs  of  palaces. 
He  lives  on  little  well,  whose  sire's 

Saltcellar  makes  his  scant  board  bright : 
Whose  slumbers  light  nor  base  desires 

Of  gain,  nor  fears  disturb  at  night. 
Why  many  aims  with  such  brief  span 


54 

Of  strength?    Why,  bent  on  change,  should  we 
Seek  other  climes?    An  exiled  man 

Quits  home;  himself  he  cannot  flee. 
Care,  morbid  care,  climbs  bronze-beaked  prows; 

Horsed  squadrons  leave  it  not  behind, 
Swifter  than  stags ;  nor  swifter  blows 

The  cloud-compelling  South  East  wind. 
Cheerful  to  face  what  is,  be  not 

Careful  at  heart  of  what  shall  be. 
With  calm  smile  temper  a  hard  lot; 

There's  no  all-round  felicity. 
Untimely  great  Achilles  died; 

Of  eld  Tithonus  dwined  away; 
And  that,  which  Fortune  has  denied 

To  you,  may  come  to  me  some  day. 
Round  you  a  hundred  herds  of  kine 

Sicilian  low ;  to  you  a  mare 
Fit  for  the  race-course  neighs,  and  fine 

The  twice-dyed  purple  wools  you  wear, 
Of  Tyrian  hues.     A  small  estate : 

A  spirit  of  Hellene  poetry, 
Slender,  to  me  an  honest  Fate 

Has  given,  and  scorn  of  jealousy. 

Od.11.17 

WHY  fret  me  with  laments?    Nor  I, 
Nor  Gods,  would  will  that  you  should  die, 
Maecenas — you,  my  fortune's  stay, 
And  glory — ere  I  pass  away. 
Should  fate  untimely  bid  you  die — 
You,  my  soul's  better  half,  ah,  why 
Should  I,  the  other  half,  less  dear 


55 

Left  but  a  remnant,  linger  here? 
That  day  shall  bring  one  death  to  both. 
Whene'er  you  lead — sure  is  my  oath — 
As  comrades  side  by  side,  we'll  tread 
The  trail  that's  trodden  by  the  dead. 
Me  nor  Chimaera,  breathing  fire, 
Shall  wrench  from  you,  nor  Gyas'  ire, 
Resurgent  with  his  hundred  hands ; 
So  will  the  Fates;  so  Right  demands. 
For,  whether  Libra  watches  me, 
Or  Scorpios  fell,  the  tyranny 
Of  my  birth-hour,  or,  sign  of  bane, 
The  Goat,  who  rules  the  Western  main, 
Our  stars  in  wondrous  wyse  agree; 
You  Jove's  protecting  brilliancy 
Rescued  from  impious  Saturn's  hate, 
And  stayed  the  wings  of  rushing  Fate, 
When  with  the  cheers  of  thronging  crowd, 
Thrice-given,  the  theatres  were  loud ; 
Me  the  curst  tree,  that  well  nigh  broke 
My  head,  had  slain,  but  that  the  stroke 
Was  stayed  by  Faunus,  guardian  true 
Of  Hermes'  men.    As  offerings,  you 
Must  give  fat  sheep  and  votive  shrine ; 
A  humble  lamb  must  serve  for  mine. 

Od.  II.  18 

NO  fretted  ceil,  with  ivory  inwrought 
And  gold,  makes  my  small  home  look  gay; 
No  slabs  Hymettian  rest  on  columns  brought 

From  Afric  quarries  far  away; 
Nor  has  it  been  my  luck  to  occupy, 
Of  Attalus  an  unknown  heir, 


56 

A  palace ;  nor  do  high-born  clients  ply 

Me  robes  of  Spartan  purple  fair. 
But  honour  bright,  aye,  and  a  kindly  vein 

Of  genius,  are  mine ;  tho'  scant 
My  means,  a  rich  man  courts  me.     I  disdain 

To  pester  Heaven  for  more,  nor  want 
To  irk  my  patron's  soul  with  fresh  appeals, 

Content  and  happy  with  my  one 
And  only  Sabine  farm.     Day  treads  on  heels 

Of  day,  and  new  moons  wane  anon. 
You  on  the  grave's  edge  bargain  evermore 

For  marbles  to  be  hewn,  build  homes, 
Of  death  unmindful,  and  would  push  the  shore, 

Where  the  rough  sea  on  Baiae  foams, 
Outward,  as  all  too  straitened  while  the  strand's 

Unbroken  line  curtails  your  sway. 
What  of  the  fact  that  ever  your  rude  hands 

Tear  neighbour's  boundary-stones  away: 
That  you  o'erleap,  a  robber  unabashed, 

Your  clients'  landmarks?    Out  they  go, 
Bearing  their  household  Gods,  and  babes  unwashed, 

Husband  and  wife,  to  want  and  woe. 
And  yet  no  hall  more  surely  than  the  grave, 

The  bourn  of  Orcus,  fixed  by  fate, 
Awaits  the  lord  of  riches.     Why,  then,  crave 

More  than  fate  grants,  insatiate? 
Impartial  Earth  opens  her  doors  to  poor 

And  rich  alike,  to  prince  and  swain ; 
Gold  never  bribed  Orcus'  assistant  dour 

To  bring  Prometheus  back  again. 
He  prisons  Tantalus,  the  proud,  and  all 

His  race  and  kind ;  called  to  release 
Poor  souls  whose  work  is  done,  he  hears  the  call, 

And  brings — aye,  and  uncalled — his  peace. 


57 

Od.  II.  19 

BACCHUS  I  saw,  far  rocks  among — 
Believe  it  all  posterity — 
Dictating  hymns  to  a  rapt  throng — 

Satyrs  goat-hoofed,  and  Nymphs  anigh — 
The  Satyrs  all  with  pricked  up  ears. 

Euoi !     My  heart,  filled  with  the  God, 
Beats  furiously;  my  mind  still  fears; 

Spare,  Liber  of  the  awful  rod. 
Euoi !     So  may  I  now  recall, 

And  picture,  headstrong  Thyiades, 
Wine-springs,  rivers  of  milk,  the  fall 

Of  honey-drops  from  hollow  trees. 
Mine  too  it  is  to  tell  how  clomb 

Thy  bride  to  heaven,  beatified : 
How  awful  ruin  wrecked  the  home 

Of  Pentheus :  how  Lycurgus  died. 
Thou  rulest  streams  and  barbarous  seas ; 

On  far  hills,  bibulous,  dost  entwine 
The  hair  of  the  Bistonides 

With  knotted  snakes,  disarmed  by  wine. 
Thou,  when  the  impious  Giant-horde 

Would  scale  Heaven's  steep,  the  Sire's  domain, 
With  lion's  teeth  and  claws  toward, 

Did'st  hurl  fell  Rhoetus  back  amain. 
Called  God  of  dance  and  sport  and  fun, 

Thou  wert  esteemed  unfit  for  arms; 
Yet  did'st  thou  bear  thyself  as  one 

For  whom  both  war  and  peace  have  charms. 


58 

To  Cerberus,  with  horn  of  gold, 
Thou  wert  as  friend,  whose  tail,  to  greet 

Thy  coming,  stroked  thee :  whose  three  fold 
Tongue  licked  thy  parting  legs  and  feet. 

Od.I1.20 

NOT  common  and  not  weak  the  wing  whereon, 
A  bard  of  twofold  nature,  I  shall  soar 
Thro'  the  clear  air;  this  earth  I'll  quit  anon, 

And  leave  its  cities,  lift  for  evermore 
Beyond  all  envy.    Child  of  poverty, 

Yet  called  to  hear,  as  friend,  your  last  farewell, 
Beloved  Maecenas,  I  shall  never  die, 

Nor  brook  restraint  within  the  Stygian  hell. 
Now,  even  now,  my  legs  put  on  rough  skin; 

Above,  a  white  bird  in  the  fashioning, 
I  take  new  shape;  shoulders  and  hands  begin 

To  wear  a  plumage  smooth  and  glistering. 
More  famed  than  Daedalean  Icarus, 

Now  shall  I  visit,  as  a  tuneful  swan, 
Gaetulian  Syrtes,  shores  where  Bosphorus 

Moans,  Northern  Steppes;  Colchian,  and  Dacian, 
Who  fears  the  Marsian  chivalry,  yet  tries 

To  hide  his  fear,  Geloni  over-sea, 
Shall  come  to  know  me;  Spaniard  too,  grown  wise, 

And  they  who  drink  the  Rhone,  shall  learn  of  me. 
Let  no  dishonouring  wails,  no  elegies, 

No  dirges  sad,  insult  my  empty  bier; 
Speak  softly;  'tis  no  time  for  noisy  cries; 

The  rites  that  honour  tombs  are  useless  here. 


59 

Od.111.1 

I    HATE  and   spurn  the  unhallowed  throng; 
Keep  silence,  all,  while  I  dictate, 

Priest  of  the  Muses  laureate, 
To  boys  and  girls  new  forms  of  song. 
Kings  claim  their  own  flocks'  fealty; 

To  Jove  the  kings  themselves  bow  down, 

Who  rules  the  wide  world  by  his  frown, 
And  smote  the  Titans  gloriously. 
More  widely  one  plants  trees;  whereas 

One  candidate  of  nobler  birth 

Enters  the  Field,  another's  worth 
Stands  in  high  fame ;  another  has 
More  numerous  clients.     All  the  same, 

Ever  and  aye  Necessity 

Dooms  high  and  low  impartially; 
The  vasty  urn  shakes  every  name. 
For  him,  o'er  whom  hangs  the  alarm 

Of  drawn  sword,  feasts  of  Sicily 

Will  have  no  sweets,  the  melody 
Of  birds  and  lute  will  have  no  charm 
To  bring  back  sleep.     Sleep  calm  and  bland 

Scorns  not  the  cots  of  labouring  men, 

Nor  shady  banks  of  stream,  or  glen, 
Nor  Tempe's  vale  by  Zephyrs  fanned. 
What  is  enough — that  and  no  more — 

Who  craves  but  this,  nor  rough  sea  frets, 

Nor  storms  that,  when  Arcturus  sets, 
Or  the  Kid  rises,  rage  and  roar, 
Nor  hails  that  lash  his  vines,  nor  land 

That  cheats  his  hopes,  while  trees  complain 

Of  stars  that  scorch  the  fields,  of  rain, 


60 

Of  the  fierce  grip  of  Winter's  hand. 
Huge  moles,  thrust  out,  narrow  the  sea 

For  fish,  where  the  contractor's  band, 

And  owner,  weary  of  the  land, 
Cast  chips  into  the  masonry. 
But  Fear  and  Menace  climb  as  high, 

As  climbs  the  lord — twin  frets  of  mind — 

On  bronze-beaked  trireme,  and  behind 
Rider,  sits  black  Anxiety. 
But,  if  nor  Phrygian  stone  nor  dress 

Sheeny  as  stars,  nor  vineries 

Falernian,  nor  Achaemenes' 
Perfumes,  can  soften  his  distress, 
Why  build  with  portals  of  desire 

A  hall,  new-planned  to  threat  the  sky? 

Why  change  my  Sabine  snuggery 
For  wealth  whose  burdens  fret  and  tire? 

Od.UI.2 

HPOUGHENED  by  war  let  every  lad 
•*-     Learn  to  bear  hardness,  and  be  glad ; 
As  horseman  let  him  wield  a  spear 
Whose  thrust  shall  be  the  Parthian's  fear. 
Out  in  the  air,  at  danger's  call, 
His  life  be  lived ;  from  enemy  wall 
Let  warring  tyrant's  consort — aye, 
And  daughter  grown,  see  him,  and  sigh, 
Lest  her  dear  prince,  untrained  to  fight, 
Should  dare  this  lion's  dangerous  might, 
That,  fired  by  battle-rage,  for  aye 
Ramps  thro'  the  fiercest  of  the  fray. 
To  die  for  Homeland  is  a  sweet 
And  gracious  thing;  on  flying  feet 


61 

Death  presses  hard,  nor  spares  to  smite 

Poltroons'  weak  knees  and  backs  affright. 

Virtue,  secure  from  shameful  rout, 

With  honours  all-unstained  shines  out; 

Nor  takes,  nor  drops,  authority 

To  suit  the  crowd's  oft-changing  cry. 

Opening  to  deathless  souls  the  skies, 

Virtue  forbidden  pathways  tries; 

Scorning  dank  earth,  and  gatherings 

Of  mobs,  she  mounts  on  soaring  wings. 

A  faith  that  keeps  a  secret  hid 

Claims  sure  reward ;  I  shall  forbid 

A  man,  who  blabs  one  mystery 

Of  Ceres'  rites,  to  lodge  with  me, 

Or  board  my  skiff.     Saints  have  been  sent 

With  sinners  to  one  banishment 

By  slighted  Jove;  Vengeance  is  halt, 

But,  following,  rarely  makes  a  fault. 

Od.  III.  3 

WHO  loves  the  Right,  whose  will  is  resolute, 
His  purpose  naught  can  shake — nor  rage  of  brutt 
Mob  bidding  him  work  evil ;  not  the  eye 
Of  threatening  despot;  not  the  tyranny 
Of  Auster,  lord  of  Hadria's  restless  sea: 
Not  Jove's  great  hand,  red  with  artillery; 
A  shattered  world,  falling  in  ruins,  might 
Crush  him ;  his  dauntless  soul  it  will  not  fright. 
Thus  Pollux  and  Alcmene's  roaming  son 
Up  to  the  flaming  heights  of  heaven  won ; 
Thus,  seated  at  their  side,  Augustus  sips 
The  nectar  of  the  Gods  with  radiant  lips. 
Thus,  Father  Bacchus,  as  in  homage  due 


62 

To  thy  deserts,  tigers  unbroken  drew 

Thy  car;  thus  in  the  chariot  of  Mars 

Quirinus  rose  o'er  Acheron  to  the  stars, 

When  to  the  Gods  in  council  came  the  word 

Of  Juno — gracious  speech,  and  gladly  heard — 

"O  Ilion,  Ilion,  by  a  judge  obscene, 

A  wretch  accursed,  and  by  a  foreign  quean, 

Rolled  in  the  dust — aye,  dammed  and  unforgiven 

Since  false  Laomedon  broke  faith  with  Heaven, 

By  me  and  chaste  Minerva — reprobate, 

People  and  perjured  king — one  folk,  one  fate! 

Aye,  but  no  longer  does  the  guest  infame 

Trick  himself  out  for  Sparta's  harlot-dame; 

No  longer  Priam's  faithless  house  beats  back, 

With  Hector's  aid,  Achaia's  fierce  attack; 

Prolonged  by  our  disputes,  the  weary  war's 

Offence  is  over  now;  forthwith  to  Mars 

Will  I  give  up  my  anger,  and  my  hate 

Toward  my  grandson,  whom  his  earth-born  mate, 

The  Trojan  priestess,  bare.    To  him  will  I 

Grant  entrance  where  on  shining  couches  lie 

The  blessed;  nectar  shall  he  quaff,  and  find 

Among  the  untroubled  Gods  his  rank  assigned. 

The  wide  world  thro',  so  long  as  angry  seas 

Part  Rome  and  Ilion,  wheresoe'er  they  please, 

Let  Trojan  exiles  lord  it,  safe  and  blest; 

So  long  as  herds  leap  o'er  the  tombs,  where  rest 

Priam  and  Paris,  and  wolves,  scathless,  hide 

Their  younglings,  let  the  Capitol,  in  its  pride, 

Stand  glorious  and  let  the  might  and  awe 

Of  Rome  rule  conquered  Medes,  and  be  their  law. 

Feared  far  and  wide,  let  her  extend  her  sway 

To  earth's  remotest  bounds,  where  Africa 

And  Europe  face  the  intervening  main, 


63 

And  Nile  inundant  floods  the  Egyptian  plain. 

Let  her  be  rather  bold  to  scorn  the  gold 

That  earth  conceals — 'tis  better  hid — than  bold 

To  gather  it  up  with  greedy  hands  that  seize 

All  sacred  things  for  human  usages. 

Whatever  limits  bound  the  world,  her  war 

Shall  compass  them,  exultant  to  explore 

Where  sunflames  hold  their  maddest  revelry, 

Where  dews  are  rains,  and  fog-banks  cloak  the  sky. 

But  to  Quirinus'  braves  I  prophesy 

This  future  on  the  terms  that  piety 

Too  great,  and  self -trust,  seek  not  to  restore 

Dead  Troy — the  Troy  their  forebears  built  of  yore. 

The  fate  of  Troy,  with  evil  augury 

Reborn,  shall  once  again  spell  tragedy, 

When  I,  Jove's  queen  and  sister,  lead  the  foe 

Whose  conquering  hosts  achieve  her  overthrow. 

Tho'  thrice  the  bronzen  wall  from  ruins  rose, 

By  Phoebus  built,  thrice  would  Achaian  blows, 

My  champions',  fell  it;  thrice  would  captive  wife 

Wail  lord  and  sons,  slain  in  the  battle-strife." 

Such  songs  as  these  suit  not  my  sportive  lyre ; 

Whither,  my  Muse,  would'st  soar?    Stay  thy  desire 

Headstrong  to  tell  what  the  high  Gods  may  say, 

And  shrink  a  theme  sublime  with  lowly  lay. 

Od.  111.  4 

COME  down  from  heaven,  royal  Calliope ; 
Breathe  on  the  pipe  a  deathless  melody, 
Or  sing  a  song — sing  it  with  clarion  voice, 
Or  to  Apollo's  lute-strings — thine  the  choice.     1st 
Hear  ye  her  strain?    Or  does  a  frenzy  kind 
Mock  me?    I  seem  to  hear  it,  and  to  wind 


64 

My  way  thro'  holy  groves,  where  'neath  the  trees 

Play  peasant  streamlets  and  a  kindly  breeze. 

Me  on  Apulian  Vultur,  past  the  line 

That  bounds  Apulia,  my  nurse  langsyne, 

The  storied  doves  of  Venus  strewed  with  green 

Leaves,  as  I  slept,  play-tired,  the  sleep  serene 

Of  boyhood,  as  a  sign — a  prodigy — 

For  all  whom  Acherontia's  aerie, 

Or  Bantia's  glades,  shelter,  and  them  whose  toil 

Ploughs  the  rich  tilths  of  low  Forentum's  soil. 

They  marvelled  how  it  was  I  slept  unscathed 

By  deadly  snakes  and  bears :  how  I  was  swathed 

With  sacred  bays,  and  myrtles'  kind  embrace — 

A  child  inspired  by  Heaven's  peculiar  grace. 

Aye,  and  as  yours,  ye  Muses — yours  for  aye — 

I  climb  my  Sabine  hill,  or  make  my  way 

To  favourite  haunts — Praeneste's  chilly  height, 

Or  Tibur's  slopes  or  Baiae,  clear  and  bright. 

Because  your  sweet  choirs  love  me  as  their  own, 

Your  fountains  too,  no  death  has  struck  me  down — 

Not  sad  Philippi's  rout,  not  the  curst  tree, 

Not  Palinurus  on  Sicilian  sea. 

With  you  beside  me,  as  a  seaman,  I 

Will  brave  mad  Bosphorus  right  willingly; 

With  you,  as  traveller,  will  wander  o'er 

The  burning  sands  of  far  Assyria's  shore. 

The  stranger-hating  Britons  will  I  greet: 

The  Concani  who  drink,  and  count  it  sweet, 

The  blood  of  horses :  the  Geloni  armed 

With  quivers:  Scythia's  river — all  unharmed. 

You  too  to  mighty  Caesar,  soon  as  he 

Has  settled  in  the  towns  where  they  would  be 

His  war-worn  troops,  and  from  his  toils  would  cease, 

Give,  in  some  grot  Pierian,  welcome  peace. 


65 

Gentle  your  counsel ;  gracious  too,  I  trow, 

Your  joy  in  its  acceptance;  this  we  know — 

Know  it  as  knowing  how  it  was  with  him, 

Who  smote  the  impious  Titan  hordes  with  grim 

Descending  bolt — who  sways  the  windy  sea 

And  sluggish  earth :  whose  one  sole  empery 

Rules  earth's  abodes  and  realms  of  sad  duress, 

Mortals  and  Gods  alike,  in  righteousness. 

Great  had  Jove's  fear  been  when  the  giant  brood, 

Proud  of  their  frightful  arms,  against  him  stood; 

And  when  the  brothers  strove  to  fix  upon 

Shady  Olympus  lofty  Pelion. 

But  what  availed  Typhon — what  the  strong  hand 

Of  Mimas,  or  Porphyrion's  threatening  stand: 

What  Rhoetus,  or  Enceladus,  the  stark 

Hurler  of  uptorn  trees,  with  heaven  for  mark, 

When  Pallas'  sounding  aegis  barred  the  way? 

Here  stood  fierce  Vulcan,  greedy  for  the  fray, 

Dame  Juno  there,  and  he,  whose  shoulders  now 

Bear,  and  shall  ever  bear,  his  mighty  bow: 

Who  with  Castalia's  waters  dewy-bright 

Bathes  his  long  locks:  who  holds,  as  of  birthright, 

All  Lycia's  woods  and  brakes — Phoebus,  adored 

As  Delos'  glory,  and  as  Patara's  lord. 

Force  lacking  counsel  falls  by  its  own  weight; 

Force  temperate  the  Gods  make  yet  more  great — 

The  Gods  who  hate  the  strength  that  would  defy 

Their  righteous  will,  and  plot  iniquity. 

Gyas,  the  hundred-handed,  seals  as  true 

These  maxims :  infamous  Orion  too, 

For  foul  assault  on  chaste  Minerva  known, 

And  by  her  virgin  arrows  smitten  down. 

On  her  own  monsters  heaped,  with  many  a  wail 

Earth  weeps  her  sons  hurled  down  to  Orcus  pale 


66 

By  thunder-bolts,  whose  fires,  haste  as  they  will 
To  eat  thro'  Aetna's  pile,  are  prisoners  still. 
The  jailor- vulture,  lechery's  penalty, 
Still  guards  the  lustful  Tityos  ceaselessly, 
And  gnaws  his  liver ;  chains  three  hundred  hold 
Pirithous  captive,  for  love  over-bold. 

Od.  111.  5 

THAT  Jove  is  lord  of  all  above 
His  thunders  and  his  lightnings  show ; 
Persia  and  Britain  tamed  shall  prove 

Augustus  demigod  here  below. 
That  ever  a  soldier  Crassus  led 

Should  wed — ah  Senate !  ah  the  sin ! — 
A  barbarous  mate  to  shame  his  bed, 

And  grow  old  with  her  hostile  kin, 
A  Marsian  as  a  Mede  king's  kern, 

Aye,  or  Apulian,  dead  to  pride 
Of  name,  shields,  garb,  Vesta  eterne, 

Tho'  Jove  and  Rome  unscathed  abide ! 
'Twas  fear  of  this  made  Regulus 

Reject  base  terms  of  peace  with  scorn, 
Inferring  precedents  ruinous 

To  generations  yet  unborn, 
If  prisoners  were  not  left  to  die 

Unpitied.     "Punic  shrines  display," 
Quoth  he,  "our  eagles — have  not  I 

Seen  them — seen  weapons  snatched  away 
From  warriors'  unresisting  hands — 

Seen  on  free  backs  arms  twist  askew, 
Gates  left  unbarred,  and  enemy  lands, 

Swept  by  our  war,  now  tilled  anew? 


67 

Ransomed  by  gold,  doubtless,  a  man 

Returns  the  bolder !    Ah,  'tis  loss 
Added  to  foul  disgrace ;  for  can 

Dyed  wool  regain  its  native  gloss? 
Nor  does  true  valour,  once  expelled, 

Care  to  replace  poltroonery. 
Free  the  snared  stag  from  toils  that  held 

It  captive — will  it  fight?    Will  he, 
Who  to  a  treacherous  foeman  knelt, 

Be  brave,  and  in  a  second  strife, 
Crush  him — who  on  his  shoulders  felt 

The  thongs,  nor  fought,  but  clung  to  life? 
He,  knowing  not  whence  true  life  is  won, 

Confounded  peace  with  war.    O  shame ! 
O  mighty  Carthage,  throned  upon 

The  wrecks  of  Italy's  fair  fame !" 
His  chaste  wife's  kiss,  the  lads  he  loved, 

He  put  aside,  in  outlaw's  wyse — 
So  runs  the  tale — and  all  unmoved 

Bent  sternly  down  his  manly  eyes; 
Till  by  new  counsel  he  made  strong 

The  Fathers'  wavering  will,  and  straight 
Went  forth,  his  sorrowing  friends  among, 

A  glorious  exile,  to  his  fate. 
He  knew  what  tortures  were  in  store 

For  him,  and  yet  he  pushed  his  way 
Thro'  troops  of  hindering  kinsfolk,  nor, 

Tho'  crowds  beset  him,  brooked  delay, 
As  tho',  some  clients'  law-suit  tried 

And  won,  he  sought  a  holiday 
By  green  Venafro's  country-side, 

Or  Dorian  Taranto's  bay. 


68 

Od.  111.  6 

FOR  sins  of  ancestors  will  you  atone, 
Roman,  what  tho'  the  sins  were  not  your  own, 
Till  you  repair  the  high  Gods'  sanctuaries, 
Their  tottering  fanes,  their  smoke-grimed  images. 
You  rule  the  world  because  to  heaven  you  bow. 
Hence  nations  rise  and  fall ;  often  ere  now, 
Angered  by  man's  neglects,  the  Gods  have  hurled 
Distress  and  anguish  on  the  Western  world. 
Once  and  again  Monaeses  and  the  horde 
Of  Pacorus  have  broke  pur  unblest  sword, 
And,  booty-laden,  add  with  grinning  glee 
To  their  few  tores  our  captured  finery. 
Dacian  and  Aethiop  have  well  nigh  wracked 
Our  city,  with  its  civil  wars  distract — 
The  Aethiop,  by  sea  no  puny  foe : 
The  Dacian,  master  of  the  twanging  bow. 
Fruitful  in  crime,  the  ages  as  they  ran 
First  fouled  the  marriage-bond,  the  home,  the  clan ; 
Thence  sprang  a  flood  of  ill — a  flood  that  broke 
In  on  our  hapless  country  and  our  folk. 
The  girl  grows  up  to  learn  the  Ionic  dance, 
And,  even  now,  with  stage-tricks  would  enhance 
Her  charms,  who  dreams,  her  inmost  heart  within, 
Of  loves  unlawful — aye,  and  hugs  her  sin. 

***** 

Not  from  such  parents  sprang  the  youth  who  dyed 

With  Punic  blood  the  ocean  far  and  wide : 

Whose  war  broke  Pyrrhus,  and  redoubtable 

Antoichus,  and  Hannibal,  the  fell. 

Nay,  'twas  a  brood,  stalwart  and  masculine, 

Of  yeomen-soldiers — lads  who  with  Sabine 


69 

Spades  turned  the  clods,  and,  as  stern  mothers  bid, 
Shouldered  their  piles  of  faggots,  kid  by  kid, 
To  bring  them  home  what  time  the  sun  should  shift 
The  shadows,  and  from  weary  oxen  lift 
Their  yokes,  with  parting  chariot  speeding  on 
The  friendly  hour  when  the  day's  work  is  done. 
What  has  it  not  debased,  this  present  curse? 
Our  parents'  age,  than  our  grandparents'  worse, 
Has  brought  us  forth,  who  shall  beget,  ah  shame! 
Children  yet  more  unworthy  Rome's  great  name. 

Od.  111.  7 

WHY  weep,  Asterie,  your  swain 
Constant  and  leal,  whom  Zephyrs  clear 
With  the  new  spring  will  bring  again 

To  you,  enriched  with  Thynian  gear, 
Gyges?    He,  driven  by  Southern  gales 

To  far-off  Oricum,  when  rose 
The  Goat's  mad  star,  sleepless  bewails 

Thro'  chilly  nights  his  wants  and  woes. 
And  yet  his  hostess,  love-sick  dame, 

Sends  messages  that  Chloe  sighs, 
Poor  soul,  with  love  like  yours  aflame, 

And  artful  tempts  him  manywise. 
She  tells  how  a  false  wife  of  yore 

Urged  Proetus,  credulous  husband,  on, 
By  charges  false,  to  slay  before 

His  time  too  chaste  Bellerophon : 
How  Peuels  'scaped  death-penalty 

Hardly,  who  fled,  wise  heart  and  pure, 
Magnesian  Hippolyte, 

And  brings  up  tales  with  sinful  lure, 
In  vain ;  than  rocks  Icarian 


70 

More  deaf,  he  hears  the  words  heart-whole. 
Beware  you,  lest  your  neighbour-man 

Enipeus  over-please  your  soul; 
Tho'  never  another  cavalier 

On  Martian  sward  attracts  such  gaze, 
Nor  Tuscan  Tiber  knows  his  peer 

Of  all  who  swim  its  watery  ways. 
At  nightfall  close  your  doors,  nor  eye 

The  streets  below  what  time  you  hear 
Flute's  plaintive  notes,  and  to  the  cry, 

That  calls  you  cruel,  turn  deaf  ear. 

Od.  111.  8 

MARCH  has  come  in.    You  would  find  out 
What  I,  a  bachelor,  am  about — 
What  mean  these  flowers,  these  incense-bowls, 
These  live  sods  topped  with  kindled  coals. 
You  doubt,  tho'  Roman  tales  you  know, 
And  Greek.    Well,  Liber  claims  a  vow — 
Feast  and  white  goat — vowed  when  the  tree, 
That  fell,  all  but  demolished  me. 
Each  year  this  festal  day  shall  see 
Its  pitch-sealed  cork  drawn  faithfully 
From  out  a  jar  that,  cellared  here, 
First  drank  the  smoke  in'  Tullus'  year. 
For  my  escape,  and  for  my  sake, 
A  hundred  cups,  Maecenas  take ; 
Keep  the  lamps  lit  till  dawn  of  day; 
Clamour  and  brawls — Avaunt !    Away ! 
Dismiss  all  public  cares ;  no  more 
Will  Dacian  Costiso  wage  war; 
The  hostile  Parthians'  civic  strife 
Hurts  only  their  own  country's  life. 


71 

In  Spain  our  old  Cantabrian  foe 

Obeys  the  might  that  laid  him  low 

At  last;  the  Scythians  think  to  slack        ,,  . 

Their  bows,  and  from  their  plains  fall  back. 

Here  just  a  citizen,  abate 

Thoughts  over-anxious  for  the  State ; 

Care-free,  enjoy  for  this  brief  hour 

The  sweet  of  life ;  forget  the  sour. 

Od.  III.  9 

•    .    \ 

He.        V\7HILE  you  were  happy  in  my  love, 

VV      And  no  more  favoured  swain  might  fling 
Round  your  white  neck  his  arms,  I  throve, 

More  blest  than  any  Persian  king.          .  •  • 
She.        While  yet  you  had  no  other  flame,      • 

Ere  Chloe  ousted  Lydia, 
I,  Lydia,  throve — a  maid  of  fame, 

Who  outshone  Roman  Ilia. 
He.          Chloe  of  Thrace  is  now  my  queen, 

Skilled  in  the  lyre's  sweet  strains;  for  whom 
I'll  never  fear  to  die,  I  ween, 

If  but  fate  lift  my  true  life's  doom. 
She.        Me,  Ornytus'  son,  Calais, 

The  Thurine,  fires,  who  am  his  joy; 
For  whom  I'd  die  twice  o'er,  ywis, 

If  but  the  fates  will  spare  my  boy. 
He.          What  if  with  yoke  that  shall  abide 

Old  love  knots  sundered  hearts  once  more? 
What  if  blonde  Chloe's  cast  aside, 
And  Lydia  scorned  re-opes  her  door? 


72 

She.        Tho'  he  is  brighter  than  a  star, 

And  you  than  cork  are  lighter — aye, 
Than  boisterous  Hadria  rougher  far. 
With  you  I'd  live;  with  you  I'd  die. 

Od.  III.  10 

(Omitted) 

Od.  HI.  11 

I  PRAY  thee,  Mercury — since  by  thee 
Inspired  Amphion's  song  moved  stones — 
And  thee,  O  Shell,  whose  psaltery 

Can  sound  forth  Music's  seven  tones — 
Not  tuneful  once,  nor  sweet,  but  now 

Welcome  to  fane  and  rich  man's  board — 
Prompt  me  a  strain,  whose  charm  shall  bow 

Lyde's  proud  ears  my  suit  toward : 
Who,  as  a  filly  three  years  old 

In  the  wide  fields,  frolics,  and  fears 
A  touch,  a  maiden  pure  for  bold 

Wooer  as  yet  too  young  in  years. 
Thou  canst  draw  tigers  after  thee, 

And  woods;  the  torrent's  rush  canst  stay; 
Before  thy  music's  witchery 

The  vast  Hall's  warder-hound  gave  way — 
Aye,  Cerberus,  tho'  his  frightful  head 

Is  girt  with  snakes  a  hundred  strong; 
Tho'  foul  his  breath,  and  slime,  like  shed 

Gore,  dribbles  from  his  triple  tongue. 
Nay  e'en  Ixion,  forced  to  smile. 

And  Tityos,  laughed  against  the  grain; 


73 

The  urn  stood  empty  for  a  while, 

While  Danaids  heard  thy  soothing  strain. 
Let  Lyde  hear  what  sin  disgraced 

Those  virgins:  what  their  well-known  fate; 
How  all  the  water  runs  to  waste 

From  the  urn's  bottom :  how,  tho'  late, 
In  Orcus  sin's  reward  is  sure. 

Ah  impious — what  could  mortal  hand 
Do  worse? — who,  impious,  could  endure 

To  slay  their  grooms  with  cruel  brand. 
One  out  of  all  the  band  alone, 

Worthy  the  marriage  torch,  to  sire 
Forsworn  was  greatly  false,  and  won 

A  fame  that  lives  while  years  expire: 
Who  roused  her  young  groom  in  the  night — 

"Up,  lest  a  sleep,  whence  fearest  naught, 
A  long  sleep,  whelm  thee;  cheat  by  flight 

My  sire's  and  wicked  sisters'  thought, 
Who,  as  she-lions  tear  their  prey 

Of  calves,  are  tearing — woe  is  me ! — 
Each  her  own  mate ;  kinder  than  they, 

I  will  not  smite  or  prison  thee. 
Me  let  my  sire  load  with  rude  chains 

Because  my  lad  I  would  not  slay; 
Me  let  his  fleet  to  the  domains 

Of  far  Numidia  bear  away. 
Go  thou  where  feet  and  breezes  take 

Thee ;  night  is  kind  and  Venus  nigh. 
So  farewell,  for  my  memory's  sake, 

Grave  on  my  tomb  an  elegy." 


74 

Od.  111.  12 

POOR  girls !     We  may  not  give  our  love  free  play, 
Or  drown  in  wine  our  sense  of  hurt  and  wrong, 
Or,  if  we  do,  must  bear,  as  best  we  may, 

The  deadly  lashes  of  an  uncle's  tongue. 
Venus'  winged  cherub  steals  your  wicker-tray, 

Poor  Neobule;  the  bright  radiancy 
Of  Liparaean  Hebrus  takes  away 

The  webs  of  throng  Minerva's  industry, 
When  he  has  bathed,  returning  from  the  lists, 

In  Tiber's  flood  his  shoulders  oiled;  as  knight, 
A  greater  than  Bellerophon ;  quick  fists, 

Quick  feet,  give  him  the  palm  in  race  or  fight. 
Skilled  he  to  shoot  in  the  open  stags  that  rush 

Forth,  when  the  herd  is  driven  from  its  lay; 
And  swift  to  meet  the  boar,  couched  in  the  brush 

Of  some  dense  thicket,  as  it  breaks  away. 

Od.  111.13 

FOUNT  of  Bandusia,  crystal-clear — 
Aye,  clearer — worthy  flowers  and  wine, 

Tomorrow  shall  a  kid  be  thine 
Upon  whose  front  young  horns  appear, 
That  threat  love-battles  presently. 

In  vain  they  threat,  for  with  red  blood 

This  scion  of  a  lustful  brood 
Shall  stain  thy  stream's  fresh  purity. 
The  flaming  Dog-Star's  spell  of  heat 

Touches  thee  not ;  to  weary  ox, 

Tired  of  the  plough,  and  wandering  flocks, 


75 

Thou  art  refreshment  cool  and  sweet. 
Thou  shalt  be  of  the  founts  men  call 

Famous,  when  of  the  oak  I  tell 

That  crowns  the  hollow  rocks,  whence  well 
Thy  babbling  waters  to  their  fall. 

Od.  III.  14 

/CAESAR,  of  whom  we  lately  spoke 
^-^    As  bent  on  bays,  like  Hercules, 
That  death  must  buy,  returns,  good  folk, 

Home  from  his  Spanish  victories. 
Proud  of  your  peerless  lord,  do  you. 

His  wife,  after  due  prayer  and  rite, 
Come  forth — our  brave  chief's  sister  too, 

And,  with  thanksgiving  fillets  bright, 
Mothers  of  girls  and  youths  restored 

Safe  to  their  homes ;  ye  lads,  and  ye, 
Lasses  new-wed,  utter  no  word 

Today  of  evil  augury. 
This  day,  truly  a  feast  for  me, 

Will  chase  black  cares ;  I  will  not  dread, 
While  Caesar  holds  the  world  in  fee, 

Tumult,  or  stroke  shall  strike  me  dead. 
Boy,  fetch  me  unguents,  flowers,  and  bring 

Wine  that  recalls  the  Marsian  war, 
If  anywhere  that  wandering 

Rogue  Spartacus  passed  by  a  jar. 
And  bid  clear-voiced  Neaera  knot 

Her  perfumed  hair  without  delay, 
And  come ;  but  if  the  porter's  not 

Friendly,  and  hinders,  come  away. 


76 

Gray  hairs  tame  tempers,  once,  I  fear, 
Too  keen  on  brawls  and  quarrelings ; 

Had  I  youth's  fire,  as  in  the  year 
Of  Plancus,  I'd  not  brook  such  things. 

Od.III.15 

of  poor  Ibycus,  have  done 
At  last  with  your  depravity, 
And  infamous  pursuits,  as  one 

To  whom  a  timely  death  draws  nigh. 
No  longer  sport  young  girls  among, 

Nor  cloud  their  brightness  starry-clear; 
What  misbecomes  not  Pholoe  young, 

Becomes  not  Chloris  old  and  sere. 
More  fitly  storms  your  girl  the  halls 

Of  youth,  like  Thyiad,  by  drum-bray 
Maddened,  whom  love  of  Nothus  calls 

To  wanton  like  a  roe  at  play. 
Far-famed  Luceria's  wools  agree 

Best  with  your  years;  not  red  new-blown 
Roses:  not  jars  drained  to  the  lee: 

Not  citterns — for  you  are  a  crone. 

Od.  III.  16 

BRONZE  tower,  stout  doors,  and  surly  guard 
Of  watchful  dogs,  had  safely  barred 
Against  assaults  of  midnight  love 
Fair  Danae's  prison,  had  not  Jove 
And  Venus  mocked  Acrisius'  care, 
Tis  jealous  wardship,  well  aware 
That  to  the  God  in  golden  shower 


77 

Broad  way  and  safe  would  ope  the  tower. 
Thro'  bodyguards,  thro'  masonry, 
Gold  makes  its  way  more  potently 
Than  lepin-bolt;  'twas  lucre  brought 
The  Argive  augur's  house  to  naught. 
By  bribes  the  man  of  Macedon 
Qeft  open  city-gates,  and  won 
The  fall  of  rival  monarchies; 
Even  rude  admirals  have  their  price. 
Increase  of  wealth  and  greed  bring  on 
Care,  from  self-gloriation 
Rightly  I've  shrunk  unto  this  hour, 
Maecenas,  knighthood's  pride  and  flower. 
The  more  a  man  himself  denies, 
The  more  kind  Heaven  to  him  supplies ; 
Homely  I  seek  camps  of  content, 
Deserting  wealth's  environment, 
Prouder,  as  master  of  my  small 
Farm,  than  as  famed  to  garner  all 
Apulia's  fruits  of  industry, 
In  plenty,  yet  in  scarcity. 
A  rivulet  clear,  a  wood  of  few 
Acres,  my  small  crop's  promise  true, 
Give  me  a  lot  that,  hid  from  him, 
Makes  Afric  praetor's  fame  look  dim. 
Tho'  bees  Calabrian  bring  not  in 
Honey,  nor  wine  in  Formian  bin 
Mellows,  nor  sheep  on  Gallic  lea 
Fatten,  and  grow  thick  wool,  for  me, 
Yet  from  harsh  poverty  I'm  free; 
If  more  I  craved,  you"d  give  it  me; 
Curtailed  wants  would  more  happily 
Enlarge  my  income  than  if  I 


78 

Blent  the  dominions  of  Mygdon 
And  Alyattes  into  one. 
Want  much,  lack  much ;  happy  is  he 
To  whom  Heaven  grants  sufficiency. 

Od.  III.  17 

SPRUNG,  noble  Aelius,  from  Lamus  old 
(Since,  as  folk  say,  'twas  he  who  gave  their  name 

To  early  Lamiae,  and — the  annals  hold 

The  proofs  of  this — the  entire  clan  can  claim 
Descent  from  him  who  was,  'tis  said,  first  king 

Of  Formiae,  and  of  the  country-side, 
Where  on  Marica's  coasts,  meandering, 

Slow  Liris  swims,  lord  of  dominions  wide), 
Tomorrow  will  the  East  Wind  bring  a  blast, 

Shall  strew  with  useless  weed  the  shore,  with  leaves 
The  woods,  unless  the  aged  crow's  forecast, 

Its  prophecy  of  coming  rain,  deceives 
Our  ears.    Get  in,  then,  while  the  weather's  fine, 

Dry  wood ;  tomorrow  will  you  chase  away 
Your  Genius'  cares  with  sucking  pig  and  wine, 

Making,  with  all  your  household,  holiday. 


od.  in.  is 


w< 


rOOER  of  flying  Nymphs,  whene'er, 

My  homestead's  sunny  fields  among, 
You  come  and  go,  be  debonair, 

Faunus,  nor  do  my  nurslings  wrong, 
If,  as  your  due,  a  kidling  dies : 
If  filled  your  bowl,  to  Venus  dear, 


79 

With  wine :  if  from  your  altar  rise 

Abundant  odours — year  by  year. 
The  cattle  in  the  pastures  play, 

What  time  December's  Nones  for  you 
Return,  and  all  make  holiday, 

Village  and  kine — one  merry  crew. 
A  wolf  roams  'mid  the  lambs ;  they  heed 

Him  not;  for  you  the  woodland  tree 
Scatters  its  leaves ;  the  digger  freed 

Thrice  stamps  on  hated  earth  his  glee. 

Od.  III.  19 

YDU  tell  what  years  part  Inachus 
From  Codrus,  patriot  to  the  death: 
What  was  the  line  of  Aeacus: 

What  wars  raged  Ilion's  walls  beneath; 
But  price  of  Chian :  at  whose  cost 

The  baths  are  warmed :  the  hour  to  flee 
Pelignian  cold :  who  is  the  host — 

All  this  you  leave  in  mystery. 
To  the  new  moon  charge  bumpers,  boy, 

To  midnight,  to  our  augur  new, 
Murena ;  for  each  toast  employ 

Three  or  four  ladlefuls  as  due. 
Who  holds  the  odd-numbered  Muses  dear, 

A  crazed  bard,  will  with  three  times  three 
Ladles  make  merry,  but,  for  fear 

Of  strife,  the  Graces'  trinity, 
Unrobed,  makes  three  the  bound.    But  we 

Would  fain  be  mad.    Why  stays  the  flute 
Its  Berecynthian  revelry? 

Why  hang  the  lyre  and  Pan-pipe  mute? 


I  hate  close  fists;  strew  roses;  let 

Crossgrained  old  Lycus  hear  our  mad 
Din ;  let  it  make  his  Amoret 

Ill-matched,  his  neighbour  lady,  glad. 
You  with  your  long  locks  fair  to  see: 

You,  Telephus,  who  like  Vesper  shine, 
Rhode,  fit  mate,  seeks;  as  for  me, 

I  slowly  burn  for  Glycera  mine. 

Od.  III.  20 

GEE  you  not,  Pyrrhus,  at  what  risk  you  steal 
^    Her  cubs  from  a  Gaetulian  lioness? 
Soon,  very  soon,  as  robber,  will  you  feel 

Her  wrath,  and  know  flight's  terror  and  distress, 
What  time  she  comes,  thro'  ranks  that  seek  to  bar 

Her  way,  to  claim  Nearchus,  her  delight — 
To  settle  whose  shall  be  the  spoils  of  war, 

Her  prize  or  rather  yours — a  famous  fight. 
Meantime,  they  say,  while  she  whets  her  fierce  fangs, 

And  you  are  getting  out  your  arrows  fleet, 
He,  on  whose  will  the  battle's  issue  hangs, 

Tramples  upon  the  palm  with  naked  feet, 
While  on  his  shoulders  and  his  scented  hair, 

That  round  about  them  falls,  plays,  as  it  wills, 
A  soft,  refreshing  breeze — as  Nireus  fair, 

Or  Ganymede,  rapt  up  from  Ida's  rills. 

Od.  III.  21 

OBORN  with  me  in  Manlius'  year, 
Good  jar,  whatever  gifts  you  bear — 
Jokes,  quarrels,  strife,  mad  loves,  light  sleep — 
To  whatsoever  end  you  keep 


81 

'>< 

Choice  Massic,  come,  for  to  yourself 
You  owe  the  move,  down  from  your  shelf, 
On  this  glad  day;  for  mellower  brands 
Corvinus  calls ;  his  wish  commands. 
Steeped  in  the  Schools'  philosophy, 
He's  yet  no  boor  to  pass  you  by. 
Why,  oftentimes — so  we  are  told: — 
Wine  warmed  stern 'Cato's  soul  of  old. 
You  rack  dull  wits  full  tenderly, 
Unveil  hid  wisdom's  mystery, 
And  straight  the  wise  man's  cares  depart, 
As  gay  Lyaeus  glads  his  heart. 
Hope  cheers  the  anxious  by  your  gift; 
The  weakling's  horn  on  high  you  lift; 
Heartened  by  you  he  laughs  at  fear 
Of  diademed  kings,  of  sword  and  spear.  j 

Liber,  and  Venus,  if  she's  good : 
The  Graces'  close-knit  sisterhood, 
And  live  lamps  still  shall  lead  you  on 
While  Dawn  is  bidding  stars  begone. 

Od.  III.  22 

VIRGIN,  who  wear'st  a  threefold  form  of  threefold 
majesty, 
Warden    of    woods   and    hills,   who,    as    invoked   with 

threefold  cry, 

Dost  hear,  and  save  from  death,  young  wives  in  child- 
birth's agony, 

Thine  be  the  pine  that  overhangs  my  villa,  so  that  I, 
At  each  year's  end,  may  offer  it,  in  cheerful  fealty, 
The  blood  of  a  young  boar  that  plans  the  stroke  that 
strikes  awry. 


82 

Od.lll.23 

IF  upturned  hands  to  heaven  you  lift 
When  the  new  moon  is  born, 
And  charm  your  Lares  with  a  gift 

Of  incense,  and  new  corn, 
And  a  fat  swine,  then  yours  shall  be 
A  fair  lot,  rustic  Phidyle. 
Your  fruitful  vine  shall  mock  the  pest 

Of  Afric's  windy  heat; 
No  blighting  mildew  shall  infest 

Your  crops ;  your  nurslings  sweet 
Shall  brave  the  sickly  months,  nor  fear 
The  menace  of  the  autumnal  year. 
The  victim  which,  doomed  to  pay  vows, 

'Mid  oaks  and  holm-oaks  feeds 
On  snowy  Algidus,  or  grows 

Fat  upon  Alban  meads, 
Shall  with  its  neck's  blood  stain  one  day 
The  axes  which  Rome's  pontiffs  sway. 
It  is  not  laid  on  you  to  press, 

By  costly  sacrifice 
Of  many  sheep,  prayer  and  address 

On  your  small  deities; 
It's  yours  to  crown  them  quietly 
With  myrtle  frail  and  rosemary. 
If  pure  your  hand,  when  it  is  laid 

The  altar's  face  upon, 
Not  by  a  costly  victim  made 

More  coaxing,  it  has  won 
Your  House-Gods'  grace  by  the  appeal 

Of  crackling  salt  and  pious  meat. 


83 

Od.  HI.  24 

THO'  wealthier  than  all  Araby 
With  untouched  stores,  and  rich  Indies, 
With  quarried  stones  you  occupy 

All  that  is  land,  and  public  seas, 
Natheless,  if  grim  Necessity 

Nails  with  steel  nails  each  pinnacle, 
Your  soul  from  fear  you  will  not  free, 

Nor  'scape  Death's  toils — his  halter  fell. 
Better  the  life  of  Scyths,  who  scour 

The  steppes,  whose  waggons  bear  afield 
Their  shifting  homes,  and  Getae  dour, 

For  whom  unmeasured  acres  yield 
Free  crops  of  corn:  who  till  their  land 

But  for  a  year ;  each  worker  does 
His  share;  that  done,  another  hand 

Relieves  him;  thus  the  shared  work  goes. 
Kind  is  stepmother's  face  toward 

Stepchildren  motherless,  kind  her  sway; 
The  dowried  wife  rules  not  her  lord, 

Nor  heeds  what  sleek  adulterers  say. 
Their  dowry  great  is  innocence 

Of  parents,  and  pledged  chastity 
That  shrinks  from  taint ;  to  whom  offence 

Is  sin,  with  death  for  penalty. 
Who  wills  to  end  the  deaths  that  shame 

Our  civic  madness,  and  to  bear 
Beneath  his  statues  the  proud  name, 

"Father  of  Cities,"  let  him  dare 
To  curb  wild  license,  and  for  fame 

Look  to  the  future,  for  our  spite 


84 

Hates  living  worth — O  wicked  shame! — 

To  miss  it  when  it's  lost  to  sight. 
What  boot  laments,  if  penalty 

Cuts  not  the  crime  short?    Of  what  worth 
Are  laws  without  morality, 

If  not  that  quarter  of  the  earth 
That's  fenced  by  heat,  nor  that  which  lies 

Nearest  the  North  Wind,  where  deep  snow 
Crusts  the  earth's  surface,  terrifies 

The  merchant :  if  skilled  sailors  plow 
The  boisterous  seas :  if  the  disgrace 

Of  poverty  bids  men  consent 
To  aught,  and  do  aught  mean  and  base, 

And  shun  true  Virtue's  steep  ascent  ? 
Or  to  the  Capitol  bear  we, 

Summoned  by  crowds'  applauding  call, 
Or  plunge  we  in  the  nearest  sea, 

Gems,  jewels,  useless  gold,  of  all 
That's  worst  the  source,  if  we  repent 

Us  truly  of  our  grievous  sin. 
We  must  stub  up  each  element 

Of  base  desire,  must  discipline 
Too  tender  souls  with  more  severe 

Studies;  untrained,  the  high-born  boy 
Can't  sit  a  horse;  he  turns  with  fear 

From  hunting ;  handier  with  a  toy — 
With  Grecian  hoop,  if  you  desire, 

Or,  if  you  like,  with  dice,  despite 
The  law.    What  wonder,  when  his  sire 

To  guest  and  partner  breaks  his  plight, 
Keen  to  snatch  gain  for  worthless  son? 

Certes  base  lucre  multiplies 
Itself,  and  yet  the  prize,  when  won, 

Lacks  something — lacks  what  satisfies. 


85 

Od.  III.  25 

"WHITHER,  O  Bacchus,  bearest  me  inspired? 

"      Into  what  groves,  what  grottoes,  am  I  now 
Hurried,  by  new  thoughts  swept  along  and  fired? 

What  caves  shall  hear  me  meditating  how 
I  may  exalt  great  Caesar's  fame  for  aye 

To  Jove's  high  council,  and  the  starry  skies? 
My  song  shall  be  sublime  and  new,  a  lay 

None  other  yet  has  sung.    Not  otherwise 
Than  Euhiad,  in  nightlong  revelry 

Upon  the  hills,  is  ravished  as  her  eye 
Scans  Hebrus,  snow-white  Thrace,  and  Rhodope, 

By  foot  barbarian,  traversed,  so  am  I 
Entranced,  what  time,  by  visions  borne  along, 

I  gaze  on  quiet  groves  and  riverside. 
O  Lord  of  Naiads,  and  Bacchantes,  strong 

To  overturn  tall  ash-trees'  towering  pride, 
Naught  petty,  naught  unworthy  its  high  due, 

Not  death  itself,  shall  touch  this  song  of  mine. 
'Tis  a  sweet  risk,  Lenaean,  to  ensue 

The  God  who  wreathes  his  brows  with  pliant 
vine. 

Od.  111.  26 

TIME  was  when,  as  a  Cupid's  knight, 
I  fought,  not  all  ingloriously, 
Love's  battles ;  now  my  panoply — 
Armour  and  lyre,  too  tired  to  fight — 
I'll  hang  upon  this  temple-wall, 

That  on  her  left  guards  Venus ;  let 


86 

Rope-torches,  crowbars,  bows,  that  threat 
Closed  doors,  hang  by  them,  one  and  all. 
Goddess,  who  rulest  Cyprus  blest, 
And,  from  Sithonian  snow-storms  free, 
Memphis,  with  uplift  whip,  prithee, 
Touch,  just  for  once,  proud  Chloe's  breast. 

Od.  III.  27 

LET  omens  ill  attend  the  way 
Of  impious  souls — to-whooing  owl 
And  pregnant  bitch,  or  wolf  blue-grey, 

Down-rushing  from  Lanuvium's  knowl, 
And  vixen  bred ;  or  let  their  start 

Be  broken  off  by  slantwise  run 
Of  serpent  swift  as  flying  dart, 

That  scares  their  team;  but  I,  for  one 
For  whom  I  fear,  an  augur  wise, 

Or  e'er  the  rain-seer  bird  divine 
Reseeks  the  marsh,  from  the  sunrise. 

Will  call  the  crow  to  speak  a  sign. 
May  you  be  happy  wheresoe'er, 

My  Galatea,  you  may  go; 
Forget  me  not,  nor  woodpecker, 

Upon  your  left,  nor  wandering  crow, 
Forbid  you.    But  you  see  with  what 

Tempests  Orion  sets  e'en  now; 
What  Hadria's  dark  gulf  is,  and  that 

lapyx  clear  can  sin,  I  know. 
May  enemy  wife  and  family 

Feel  rising  Auster's  blind  outbreaks, 
And  Ocean's  black  ferocity, 

And  shores  that  furious  wave-beat  shakes. 


87 

Thus  risked  Europa  her  fair  life 

On  treacherous  bull,  and,  seeing  the  sea 
With  monsters  thronged,  with  perils  rife, 

Paled  at  her  own  audacity. 
Lately  intent  on  flowering  leas, 

And  wont  to  wreathe  the  chaplets  due 
To  Nymphs,  she  now  saw  naught  but  seas 

Boundless,  and  stars  the  dim  night  thro*. 
Soon  as  she  reached  Crete  with  its  host 

Of  towns,  a  hundred  strong,  "O,  sire  J" 
She  cried,  "O  name  of  daughter  lost! 

O  duty  slain  by  mad  desire ! 
Whence  came  I  whither?    One  death  were 

For  virgins'  sin  light  penalty. 
Wail  I,  awake,  as  wrong-doer, 

Foul  deed,  or  does  a  phantasy 
Vain  mock  my  innocence  in  sleep, 

With  dream  from  ivory  gateway  flown? 
Better  was  it  to  cross  the  deep, 

Or  gather  flowerets  freshly  blown? 
Should  any  yield  that  beast  infame 

To  my  just  wrath  I'd  strive  I  vow 
To  break  its  horns;  with  sword  I'd  maim 

The  monster  loved  so  well  but  now. 
Shameless  I  left  my  father's  home : 

Shameless  stay  Orcus.    O  if  ear 
Divine  can  hear  I  fain  would  roam 

Where  lions  my  bare  flesh  would  tear 
Ere  from  fair  cheeks  the  bloom  has  died 

Decayed  ere  ebbs  life's  ruddy  blood 
From  victim  young  in  beauty's  pride 

Gladly  I'd  be  fierce  tigers'  food. 
'Europa  vile,'  cries  far  away 

My  sire,  'death  beckons ;  with  your  zone,- 


'Twas  well  you  brought  it  with  you — may 

You  break  your  neck,  hung  from  this  roan. 
O  if  rocks  deadly  sharp  and  high 

Cliff  please  you  more,  trust  the  wind's 

wings, 
Unless  you  rather  wish  to  ply 

A  slave-girl's  task — you,  sprung  from  kings, 
A  concubine,  to  foreign  dame 

Abandoned.'  "    As  she  made  lament, 
Venus  with  smile  perfidious  came 

Up,  and  her  son  with  bow  unbent.    ' 
So  soon  as  she  had  mocked  enow, 

"Cease,"  cried  she,  "from  your  passionate 
Complaints,  when  the  loathed  bull  shall  bow 

His  horns  for  you  to  mutilate. 
Unconquered  Jove's  wife  unaware 

You  are;  sob  not;  great  is  your  fame; 
Learn  to  bear  well  a  fate  so  fair, 

For  half  the  world  shall  wear  your  name." 

Od.III.28 

YV7HAT  could  I  better  do  on  Neptune's  day? 

Lyde,  be  quick  and  broach  the  Caecuban 
Hid  in  your  store,  and  with  me  make  foray 

On  wisdom's  fortress — that's  my  present  plan. 
Midday  is  past ;  you  see  how  Phoebus'  car 

Sinks ;  yet  as  tho'  the  flying  day  stood  still, 
You  pause,  as  loth  to  bring  the  lingering  jar, 

That  erst  the  year  of  Bibulus  bade  you  fill. 
Now  will  we  sing  in  turn — of  Neptune  I, 

And  green-haired  Nereids ;  your  part  shall  be 
To  sing  to  your  curved  lyre  Latona,  aye., 
.And  flying  Cynthia's  fierce  artillery. 


89 

Lastly  the  Cnidian  queen  shall  be  our  theme, 
Who  holds  the  shining  Cyclades  in  fee, 

And  visits  Paphos'  isle  with  swans  for  team; 
Night  too  shall  have  her  meed  of  elegy. 

Od.  III.  29 

OF  Tuscan  kings,  Maecenas,  heir, 
An  unbroached  jar  of  mellow  wine, 
Rose-blooms,  and  balsam  for  your  hair 

Of  ben-nuts,  wait  you  here,  langsyne 
Expectant;  haste,  nor  watch  for  aye 

Wet  Tibur,  Aefula's  hillside, 
And  the  far  wolds  where  erst  held  sway 

Telegonus,  the  parricide. 
Come,  leave  your  plenty's  irk  and  bore, 

Your  palace  with  its  skyey  dome; 
Nor  marvel  longer  at  the  roar 

And  smoke  and  pomp  of  wealthy  Rome.  * 
Full  oft  a  welcome  change  to  meals 

Simple,  in  humble  cots,  that  know 
Nor  purple  rugs,  nor  awninged  ceils, 

Has  smoothed  a  rich  man's  anxious  brow. 
Now  shining  out  the  sire  of  fair 

Andromeda  unveils  his  rays ; 
Now  Procyon  and  the  mad  Lion  glare 

Frenzied,  as  suns  bring  back  dry  days. 
Now,  weary  with  his  weary  flock, 

The  shepherd  seeks  the  shady  rill, 
And  thickets  of  Silvanus  shock, 

And,  breathless  now,  the  bank  is  still. 


90 

How  best  the  State  may  stand  and  hold 

Its  own,  you  ponder ;  fear,  too,  what 
Bactra,  by  Cyrus  ruled  of  old, 

Seres,  and  rebel  Tanais  plot. 
All  wisely  Heaven  in  darkest  night 

Enshrouds  the  event  that  is  to  be, 
And  mocks  if  mortal  men  despite 

Its  sanctions :  order  equably 
What  is ;  all  else  sweeps  on  amain, 

Like  stream  that  down  mid-channel  now 
Falls  calm  into  the  Tuscan  main, 

Now  rolls  down  stones  worn  by  its  flow, 
And  uptorn  rocks,  and  homes,  and  herd, 

Together,  while  each  neighbouring  wood, 
And  hill,  rings,  as  still  brooks  are  stirred 

To  fury  by  the  furious  flood. 
Lord  of  himself,  and  happy,  will 

He  be,  who  can  from  day  to  day 
Say,  "I  have  lived ;  let  Jove  fulfill 

Tomorrow's  sky  with  leaden-grey 
Clouds  or  with  shine,  he  can't  undo 

What  has  been  done,  nor  make  as  naught, 
No,  nor  reforge  and  shape  anew, 

What  once  the  flying  hour  has  brought." 
Exultant  in  her  cruel  trade, 

Playing  her  rude  game  ceaselessly, 
Fortune  shifts  honours,  fickle  jade, 

Kind,  now  to  others,  now  to  me. 
I  praise  her  present;  if  she  flap 

Her  wings,  pay  back  without  ado 


91 

Her  gifts,  use  virtue  as  my  wrap, 

And  poverty  undowried  woo. 
Not  mine,  if  stormy  Afric  bows 

The  groaning  mast,  to  fly  to  prayers 
Abject,  and  bargain  with  shrill  vows 

That  Cyprian  and  Tyrian  wares 
May  not  enrich  the  greedy  seas. 

At  such  a  time  in  light  pair-oar, 
Sped  by  twin  Pollux  and  by  breeze, 

I'll  cross  the  Aegean  safe  to  shore. 

Od.  III.  30 

LO,  I  have  reared  a  monument  that  bronze  shall  not 
outlast, 
More  lofty  than  the  pyramids  that  despots  piled  of 

yore; 
Its  strength  defies  devouring  rain,  defies  the  ungoverned 

blast 
Of  Aquilo,  the  wind  that  blows  from  where  the  North 

seas  roar; 
It  shall  survive  when  the  unnumbered  tale  of  years  is 

past, 
When  days  and  months  have  ceased  to  be,  and  Time 

shall  be  no  more. 
There's  that  in  me  which  shall  not  die;  that  which  is 

most  of  me 
Shall  win  where  the  death-goddess  has  no  part  nor 

lot;  my  fame 
Shall   grow  with  increase   ever   new   as   the   ages   yet 

to  be 

Uplift  their  voice  in  praise  of  me,  and  magnify  my 
name, 


92 

While  up  the  Capitol  shall  climb,  in  solemn  company, 
Pontiff   and   they  whose   silent   care  guards   Vesta's 

holy  flame. 

It  shall  be  said  of  me,  who,  where  Ofanto  storms  along 
Raging,  and  where  o'er  arid  realms  ruled  Daunus  in 

old  days, 
Waxed  strong  from  low  estate,  that  I,  first  of  all  sons 

of  song, 

Married  to  modes  of  Italy  Aeolia's  lyric  lays. 
Be  proud  of  right,  Melpomene,  and,  for  to  thee  belong 
The    honours,   will    to    crown    my   brow   with    great 
Apollo's  bays. 

Od.lF.l 

\WHAT,  Venus,  would'st  thou  now  recall 
™      Wars  long  abandoned?     Spare,  I  pray. 
I  am  not  what  I  was  as  thrall 

Of  kindly  Cinara.     Cease  to  sway, 
O  sweet  Loves'  cruel  mother,  one, 

Who,  with  his  fiftieth  year  anigh, 
Bends  not  to  thy  mild  rule;  begone 

Whither  young  gallants'  coaxing  cry 
Recalls  thee.    Timelier  wilt  thou 

Revel  with  glistering  swans  to  fire 
Young  Paulus  Maximus,  I  trow, 

If  fitting  heart  be  thy  desire. 
For  as  high-born  and  fair  to  see, 

No  silent  champion  at  the  Bar, 
Graced  with  a  hundred  graces,  he 

Will  bear  thy  standards  wide  and  far: 
Who,  when  he  shall  have  mocked,  in  pride 

Of  power,  a  rival's  bribery, 


93 


In  marble,  Alban  lakes  beside, 

'Neath  cedar  roof  will  image  thee. 
There  shall  abundant  incense  greet 

Thy  nostrils ;  Berecynthian  flute 
And  lyre  for  thee  shall  blend  their  sweet 

Music,  nor  shall  Pan-pipe  be  mute. 
Twice  every  day  shall  lads  and  gay 

Young  lasses  celebrate  thy  might, 
And  shake  the  earth,  in  Salian  way, 

With  threefold  beat  of  feet  snow-white. 
Naught  cheers  me  now — nor  lass,  nor  lad, 

Nor  wistful  hope  of  love  that  shall 
Match  mine,  nor  brows,  with  flowerets  clad 

Fresh-blown,  nor  bouts  convivial. 
But  why,  ah  Ligurinus,  why 

Steal  down  my  cheeks  rare  tear-drops? 

Whence 
The  breaks  that  silence  shamefully 

My  tongue,  and  halt  its  eloquence? 
Fast  now  I  hold  thee  in  my  dreams ; 

In  dreams  now  chase  thee  o'er  the  sward 
Of  Mars'  great  Field,  now  thro'  the  stream's 

Swift  flood — O  cruel  heart,  and  hard ! 

Od.  IF.  2 

O  seeks  to  rival  Pindar,  he 
Upsoars  on  wings  waxed  with  the  skill, 
Julus,  of  Daedalus,  and  will 
Name  with  his  name  some  glassy  sea. 
As  stream  that  down  the  mountain's  steep, 
Above  its  banks  by  rains  uplift, 
Rushes,  so  surges  Pindar  swift 


94 

With  boundless  flood,  with  utterance  deep. 

Worthy  Apollo's  bays  is  he, 
Whether  in  dithyrambs  bold  he  pours 
Forth  words  new-formed,  or  song  that  wars 

Against  all  laws  of  poetry; 

Whether  he  hymns  Gods,  or  acclaims 
Kings  born  of  Gods,  whose  valour  slew 
The  Centaurs — righteous  doom  and  due — 

And  quenched  Chimaera's  fearsome  flames; 

Or  tells  of  heroes  glorified 
By  palm  Olympian,  of  steed, 
Of  boxer,  bringing  to  them  a  meed 

A  hundred  statues  could  not  side; 

Or,  wailing  bridegroom  rapt  away 
From  weeping  bride,  exalts  on  high 
His  strength,  soul,  golden  courtesy, 

And  grudges  Orcus'  gloom  its  prey. 

Strong  is  the  breeze  that  lifts  the  swan 
Dircaean,  Antony,  what  time 
To  heights  of  cloud-land  it  would  climb. 

I,  as  a  Matine  bee  drones  on, 

Culling  the  thyme's  sweets  toilfully 
By  watery  Tibur's  groves  and  braes, 
Fashion,  a  humble  bard,  my  lays 

With  pains  of  strenuous  industry. 

A  poet,  you,  of  nobler  quill 

Shall  sing  of  Caesar  when,  with  well 
Earned  bays  enwreathed,  he  leads  the  fell 

Sygambri  down  the  Sacred  Hill; 

Than  whom  Fate  and  kind  deities 
Have  given  naught  better,  naught  that  is 
Greater,  to  earth,  nor  will,  ywis, 


95 

Give,  tho'  the  Golden  Age  re-rise. 

Of  feasts  and  games  your  song  shall  be — 
Our  thanks  for  answered  prayers  that  gave 
Back  to  our  arms  Augustus  brave — 

And  Forum  from  all  law-suits  free. 

Then  too  my  voice,  if  not  in  vain 
Its  utterance,  shall  come  in,  and  say, 
Full-toned,  "O  fair,  O  happy  day !" 

For  joy  that  Caesar's  home  again. 

And,  as  you  lead  the  way,  we'll  raise, 
Not  once  alone,  our  triumph-shout, 
Ho  Triumph! — all  will  peal  it  out, 

And  offer  Heaven  incense  in  praise. 

Your  debt  ten  bulls,  as  many  cows, 
Shall  quit;  a  calf  will  set  me  free — 
A  youngling  weaned,  that  on  lush  lea 

Grows  to  its  strength  to  pay  my  vows, 

Whose  brow,  with  hornlets  newly  grown, 
Copies  the  young  moon's  crescent  rays, 
At  its  third  rise ;  it  shows  a  blaze, 

A  birth-mark;  elsewhere'  tis  red-roan. 

Od.  IV.  3 

HE  on  whose  birth,  Melpomene, 
Thou  once  for  all  hast  set  thine  eye, 
Thy  placid  gaze,  shall  never  be 
A  boxer,  famed  for  mastery 
In  Isthmian  games;  no  fiery  steeds 

Shall  draw  him  in  Achaean  car 

To  victory,  nor  shall  mighty  deeds 

Display  him,  as  a  man  of  war, 


96 

To  Rome's  heart,  crowned  with  Delian  bays, 

Because  he  cast  proud  tyrants  down. 
But  Tibur's  thickly  wooded  braes, 

And  streams,  shall  rear  him  to  renown, 
With  lyric  song.    As  for  rewards, 

To  me  poetic  rank  the  youth 
Of  Rome,  of  cities  queen,  accords, 

And  blunted  now  is  envy's  tooth. 
Muse  of  the  golden  lyre,  whose  art 

Tempers  its  strings  to  harmony: 
Who  could'st,  were  it  thy  will,  impart 

To  voiceless  fish  the  swan's  clear  cry: 
That  as  Rome's  minstrel-bard  I'm  hailed 

By  passers'  fingers  lift  to  me : 
My  breath,  and,  if  I  have  not  failed 

To  charm,  my  charm — 'tis  all  of  thee ! 

Od.  IV.  4 

LIKE  as  the  bird  that  bears  on  high 
Jove's  bolts,  by  heaven's  Lord,  as  its  meed, 
Made  king  of  birds,  for  loyalty 

Proved  upon  fair-haired  Ganymede; 
Him  youth  and  native  grit  of  old 

Drove  from  the  nest  or  e'er  he  knew 
Toil,  and  Spring  winds,  when  clouds  had  rolled 

By,  sent  him  forth  on  ventures  new, 
Half  fearful ;  soon,  with  rushing  stoop 

To  sheepfolds,  he  would  strike  his  prey, 
On  struggling  snakes  anon  to  swoop, 

Urged  by  the  lust  of  feast  and  fray; 
Or,  as  a  fawn  that,  having  quit 

Its  red  dam's  dugs  for  lavish  grass, 


97 

Sees  lion-cub  newly  weaned — sees  it 

To  die  by  its  young  fangs,  alas ! — 
So  saw  the  Vindelicians 

'Neath  Alps  of  Raetia  Drusus'  war, 
When,  conquered  by  a  young  man's  plans, 

Troops,  that  had  conquered  long  and  far — 
Who  arm  with  Amazonian 

Axe  their  right  hands — have  armed  them  so 
Always ;  when  came  the  use  I  can 

Not  say ;  not  all  things  may  one  know — 
Felt  what  a  mind,  a  temper,  taught 

In  fostering  home  to  bear  its  part, 
Could  do :  how  on  the  Neros  wrought 

Augustus'  care — his  father's  heart. 
Brave  souls  spring  from  the  brave  and  true; 

Ever  in  steers,  in  colts,  there  is 
The  mettle  of  their  sires,  nor  do 

Fierce  eagles  breed  soft  doves,  ywis. 
But  teaching  trains  the  force  innate ; 

Right  culture  firms  the  heart;  whene'er 
Morals  decay,  faults  vitiate 

What  is  by  nature  good  and  fair. 
What  to  the  Neros  Rome  you  owe 

Metaurns'  flood  attests  for  aye, 
And  Hasdrubal  your  vanquished  foe, 

And  Latium's  fair  and  cloudless  day, 
That  first  smiled  with  kind  victory 

Since  the  dread  African,  Rome's  bane, 
Like  flame  thro'  pines,  swept  Italy, 

As  Enrus  sweeps  Sicilian  main. 
Thenceforth  with  labours  prosperous 

Rome's  youth  grew  strong,  and  temples 
wrecked 


98 

By  Punic  onslaught  impious, 

Beheld  their  Gods  again  erect. 
Quoth  treacherous  Hannibal  at  length — 

"As  stags,  the  prey  of  fierce  wolves,  we 
Chase  wantonly  a  foe  whose  strength 

'Tis  triumph  rare  to  foil  and  flee. 
The  race,  that  from  Troy's  cinders  bore 

Bravely  across  the  Tuscan  sea 
Thro'  storms  to  the  Ausonian  shore 

Its  Gods,  babes,  manhood's  chivalry — 
As,  lopped  by  axe  in  dark-leaved  wood 

Of  shady  Algidus,  holm-oak — 
Thro'  scathes,  thro'  wounds,  draws  hardihood 

And  courage  from  the  iron's  stroke. 
Not  stronger  grew  'gainst  Hercules 

The  Hydra  maimed,  as  hard  bestead 
He  chafed ;  not  greater  prodigies 

Echion's  Thebes  and  Colchis  bred. 
Plunged  in  the  depths,  it  rises  more 

Resplendent;  grapple  it,  it  will  bring 
Down  proudly  unscathed  conqueror, 

And  wage  wars  for  its  wives  to  sing. 
No  haughty  messengers  shall  I 

Now  send  to  Carthage ;  fallen  is  all 
Our  hope :  fallen  our  fortune,  aye, 

Our  name — dead  with  dead  Hasdrubal. 
Naught  shall  the  Claudian  hands  not  do, 

By  Jove's  kind  favour  evermore 
Protected  :  by  shrewd  counsels  too 

Brought  safely  thro*  the  risks  of  war." 


99 

Od.  IF.  5 

BY  grace  of  kind  Gods  born,  best  champion 
Of  Romulus'  race,  too  long  you  stay  from  home; 
Upon  your  promise  to  return  anon 

Our  sacred  Council  rests;  keep  it,  and  come. 
Give  to  your  country  back,  dear  Chief,  your  light, 

For,  when  upon  our  folk  your  face  has  shone, 
Like  Spring,  the  very  sunshine  seems  more  bright, 

Aye,  and  more  pleasantly  the  days  pass  on. 
Even  as  a  mother,  when  her  boy,  delayed 

By  South  Wind's  jealous  breath,  beyond  the  sea 
Carpathian  lingers,  from  his  dear  home  stayed 

More  than  a  year,  recalls  him  ceaselessly 
By  vows,  by  prayers,  by  divinations,  nor, 

A-watch  for  him,  from  winding  coast-line  turns 
Her  eyes,  so  with  heart-longings  evermore 

His  country  for  her  absent  Caesar  yearns. 
In  safety  roam  our  oxen  over  leas, 

By  Ceres  and  by  kind  Prosperity 
Fattened;  our  sailors  fly  o'er  peaceful  seas; 

Faith  shrinks  from  blame  as  from  an  infamy; 
Adulteries  never  smirch  homes'  fair  renown; 

Custom  and  Law  have  chased  the  impiety; 
Children  like  husbands  are  our  matrons'  crown; 

Hard  on  offence  presses  the  penalty. 
Who  would  fear  Persians,  or  chill  Scythia's  hordes, 

Or  shaggy  Germany's  war-loving  breeds: 
Who  would  reck  aught  of  fierce  Hiberia's  swords, 

While  Caesar's  life  is  safe :  while  Caesar  leads  ? 
Each  on  his  own  hills  sees  the  sunlight  fail ; 

To  "marriageable  elm"  he  weds  his  vine; 


100 

This  done,  his  wine  recalls  him,  soon  to  hail 

You  at  his  second  course  as  all  divine. 
With  wine  from  goblets  poured,  with  many  a  prayer, 

He  honours  you,  and  to  his  deities 
He  adds  your  Lar,  as  Greece,  mindful  of  their 

Exploits,  hails  Castor  and  great  Hercules. 
Long  may  you  give,  good  Chief,  such  festival 

Days  to  Hesperia — thus,  while  yet  the  day 
Is  whole,  and  we  athirst:  thus,  when  we  all 

Have  well  drunk,  and  the  sun  has  set,  we  pray. 

Od.lF.6 

GOD,  by  whose  will  the  vaunting  word 
Of  Niobe  was  her  children's  knell: 
Whom  Tityos  knew,  and  Phthia's  lord, 

Before  whose  might  Troy  all  but  fell, 
A  peerless  warrior,  but  for  thee 

No  match,  tho',  as  the  Sea-Queen's  son, 
Fighting  with  spear  tremendous,  he 

Shook  the  tall  towers  of  Ilion. 
He,  as  a  pine  by  keen  axe  thrown, 

Or  cypress  felled  by  East  Wind's  gust, 
Fell  great  and  greatly,  and  laid  down 

His  haughty  neck  in  Trojan  dust. 
Not  he,  in  horse,  feigned  offering 

To  Pallas'  honour,  would  betray 
Trojans  untimely  revelling, 

And  Priam's  hall  with  dancers  gay, 
But,  stern  to  foes  ta'en  openly, 

He'd  burn  with  Greek  fires — ah,  the  sit 
Of  it! — small  boys,  yet  infants,  aye, 

And  babes  their  mothers'  wombs  within; 


101 

Had  not,  by  kindly  Venus'  prayers 

And  thine  impelled,  the  Sire  most  High 
Granted  Aeneas  and  his  heirs 

Walls  traced  with  happier  augury. 
Of  sweet  Thalia's  psaltery 

Master,  who  lav'st  thy  flowing  hair 
In  Xanthus,  beardless  Way-God,  be 

The  Daunian  Muse's  pride  thy  care. 
My  genius  is  of  Phoebus'  dower, 

Aye,  and  my  art;  he  gives  to  me 
My  poet's  name.    O  virgins'  flower, 

And  boys  of  noble  ancestry, 
Wards  of  the  Delian  Goddess,  who 

Stays  flying  stags  and  lynxes  fleet, 
Be  to  the  Lesbian  measures  true, 

And  mark  my  thumb's  controlling  beat, 
Duly  exalting  Leto's  son, 

Duly  the  Night-Queen's  crescent  light, 
Who  brings  full  crops,  and  hurries  on 

The  months'  career — their  onward  flight. 
"Trained  to  the  modes" — anon  you'll  say 

As  bride — "of  Horace,  poet-seer, 
On  our  centennial  holiday 

I  sang  a  song  Gods  loved  to  hear." 

Od.  IF.  7 

THE  snows  have  fled ;  returns  to  every  mead 
Its  grass,  its  crown  of  leaves  to  every  tree ; 
Earth  changes  with  the  change ;  at  lessened  speed, 

Within  their  banks  the  rivers  seek  the  sea. 
The  Graces  and  the  Nymphs  with  never  a  fear 
All  naked  dance  the  happy  hours  away; 


102 

Look  not  for  things  immortal — warns  the  year, 

Aye,  and  the  hour  that  steals  the  gracious  day. 
West  winds  abate  the  frosts ;  summer  anon 

Tramples  on  Spring,  itself  to  disappear 
As  Autumn  sheds  its  fruits ;  then,  Autumn  gone, 

Winter  comes  back  to  close  the  working-year. 
Yet,  fast  as  moons  wane  in  the  sky,  as  fast 

They  wax ;  but  we,  poor  mortals,  when  we  fare 
Whither  Aeneas,  Tullus,  Ancus  passed, 

Are  naught  but  dust  here,  naught  but  shadows  there. 
Who  knows  whether  the  gods  who  reign  above 

Add  a  new  day's  span  to  the  sum  of  this? 
Live  while  you  live;  that  which  the  soul  you  love, 

Your  self,  enjoys,  your  greedy  heir  will  miss. 
Once  you  are  dead,  once  Minos,  judge  of  men, 

Has  fixed  by  doom  august  your  destiny, 
Not  rank,  Torquatus,  shall  restore  you  then; 

Not  eloquence ;  not  even  piety. 
Dian  despite,  Hippolytus  remains, 

Chaste  tho'  he  was,  hidden  in  nether  gloom; 
Nor  can  the  love  of  Theseus  break  the  chains 

That  hold  Peirithous  in  dark  Lethe's  tomb. 

Od.IF.8 

GLADLY  I'd  give  my  boon  companions, 
To  suit  their  tastes,  goblets  and  bronzes  rare, 
And  tripods,  prizes  of  Greek  champions, 

Nor,  Censorinus,  would  you  get  least  share, 
That  is,  if  with  such  gems  my  house  were  filled, 

Such  as  Parrhasius  or  Scopas  wrought, 
The  one  in  stone,  with  paints  the  other,  skilled 
To  image  God  or  man,  as  genius  taught. 


103 

/ 

But  I  have  no  such  store,  nor  have  such  things 

Aught  that  your  fortunes  lack,  or  tempers  crave ; 
In  song  is  your  delight;  as  offerings 

Songs  we  can  give,  and  tell  what  worth  they  have. 
Not  marbles  graven  with  records  of  proud  feats, 

Whereby  return  their  breath  to  warriors  dead 
And  life :  not  Hannibal's  hurried  retreats, 

No,  nor  his  threats'  recoil  on  his  own  head, 
More  gloriously  manifest  his  praise 

Who  won  from  conquered  Africa  a  name, 
Than  the  Calabrian  Muses ;  nor,  if  lays 

Were  silent,  would  you  get  your  meed  of  fame. 
What  would  the  son  of  Mars  and  Ilia  be, 

If  jealous  silence  buried  Romulus, 
And  his  deserts?    Not  his  integrity 

Alone  from  Stygian  waves  snatched  Aeacus, 
And  raised  him  in  blest  isles  to  deity, 

Nay,  but  great  poets'  voices  too  and  grace. 
Who  praise  deserves,  the  Muse  forbids  to  die. 

With  heaven  she  blesses.    Thus  she  make  a  place 
For  Hercules  where  high  Jove  feasts  the  blest; 

Thus  the  Tyndaridae,  bright  luminaries, 
Snatch  from  profoundest  depths  ships  storm-distrest; 

Thus  Liber  satisfies  his  votaries. 

Od.  IF.  9 

LEST  you  should  fancy  that  the  songs  which  I, 
By  Aufidus'  far-sounding  waters  sprung, 
With  modes  of  art  till  then  unknown,  have  sung — 
Songs  to  be  married  to  the  lyre — will  die, 
Think  that,  if  to  Maeonian  Homer  pride 

Of  place  belongs,  yet  Pindar's  song  remains; 
The  Cean  Muse,  Alcaeus'  warlike  strains, 


104 

Stesichorus'  stately  epics,  still  abide. 
Time  has  not  rased  Anacreon's  minstrelsy, 

His  merry  songs;  still  breathes  the  love,  still  burn 

The  fires,  entrusted  to  her  sad  cithern 
By  the  Aeolian  maid  in  years  gone  by. 
Not  Spartan  Helen  only  has  admired 

A  gay  gallant's  tressed  locks,  his  broidery 

Of  gold,  his  princely  pomp,  his  company, 
And  with  the  vision  has  been  passion-fired. 
Not  first  did  Teucer  from  Cydonian  bow 

Shoot  shafts ;  not  only  once  has  Ilion 

Been  sacked;  not  huge  Idomeneus  alone, 
Or  Sthenelus  waged  warfare  long  ago 
Worthy  the  Muses'  song;  not  first  did  haught 

Hector  and  keen  Deiphobus  await, 

And  meet,  fierce  blows  in  combats  passionate 
For  innocent  wives  and  tender  children  fought. 
Before  the  age  of  Agamemnon  wight 

Lived  many  a  hero,  but  unwept,  unknown, 

Because  no  sacred  bard  hymned  their  renown, 
They,  one  and  all,  lie  whelmed  in  endless  night 
'Twixt  valour  hid  and  buried  cowardice 

Small  is  the  difference ;  never  will  I, 

In  what  I  write,  pass  you  unhonoured  by, 
In  silence,  Lollius,  nor  in  any  wyse 
Suffer  green-eyed  oblivion  to  wear 

Your  many  deeds  away,  unchecked  by  song. 

Yours  is  the  statesman's  soul,  upright  and  strong, 
Or  in  misfortune,  or  in  fortune  fair : 
Of  greedy  guile  avenger  stern,  unmoved 

By  all-seducing  gold's  attraction, 

A  consul  it,  not  of  one  year  alone, 


105 

But  ever  when,  as  judge  true  and  approved, 
It  has  set  Right  before  expediency: 

Has  scorned  offenders'  bribes  with  proud  disdain: 

Has  thro'  opposing  ranks  cloven  amain 
Its  way,  its  stedfast  march,  to  victory. 
Not  rightly  will  you  speak  of  him  as  blest 

Whose  wealth  is  many  things ;  more  truly  he 

Can  claim  the  title,  "Blest/'  who,  skilled  to  see 
What  wisdom  bids,  uses  at  wisdom's  hest 
The  gifts  of  heaven :  can  bear  hard  poverty : 

Who  dreads  far  worse  than  death  dishonour's  brand; 

No  coward  he,  who  for  his  motherland 
And  comrades  dear  would  never  fear  to  die. 

Od.W.lO 

HARD-HEARTED  yet,   and  strong  with  strength  of 
of  Venus'  gifts  of  grace, 
When  grows  to  your   despair   thick  down   upon  your 

proud  young  face, 

And  when  the  hair  is  cut  that  now  about  your  shoul- 
ders flows, 
And  when  the  hue  that  now  transcends  the  scarlet  of 

the  rose, 
Changed,   Ligurinus,    shall    have    made    your    face    a 

shaggy  mask, 
Then,    as    the    glass    reflects    the    change,    you'll    cry, 

"Ah  me,"  and  ask, 
"Why  had  I  not  the  mind  that  now  is  mine  in  young- 

sterhood : 
Or    why    return    not    my    fresh    cheeks    to    match    my 

present  mood?" 


106 

Od.  IF.  11       . 

I   HAVE  a  cask  of  Alban,  more 
Than  nine  years  old;  my  garden-ground; 
Phyllis,  of  parsley  have  good  store, 

For  chaplets  meet;  ivy  abounds — 
Sprays  that  show  out  your  beauty's  sheen, 

Binding  your  hair;  the  house  looks  good 
With  silver  plate;  with  vervain  green, 

The  altar  claims  a  slain  lamb's  blood. 
All  hands  are  busy;  to  and  fro 

Run  boys  and  girls  in  companies; 
The  fire-flames  flicker  as  they  go 

Upward,  and  black  smoke-eddies  rise. 
What  joys  invite  you  ?    Well,  the  Ides 

Claim  your  attendance,  be  it  known — 
Mid-April's  feast-day  that  divides 

The  month  that  Venus  counts  her  own : 
Rightly  a  feast  for  me,  well  nigh 

More  sacred  than  my  birth's  event, 
For  from  this  anniversary 

Maecenas  tells  his  life's  ascent. 
You  long  for  Telephus,  a  lad 

Not  of  your  class ;  a  wealthy  maid 
Has  snapped  him  up,  and  holds  him,  glad 

To  be  her  prisoner — saucy  jade. 
From  greed's  ambitions  Phaethon 

Consumed  deters ;  the  tale  that  tells 
How  Pegasus  flung  Bellerophon, 

Scorning  his  earth-born  rider,  spells 
Warning  to  you  that  you  should  choose 

Meet  things :  should  cut  too  venturesome 


107 

Hopes  down  as  sinful :  should  refuse 
A  mate  unequal.    Come,  then,  come, 

Last  of  my  loves,  for  not  again 
Shall  I  love  woman ;  learn  my  lays, 

That  your  dear  voice  may  lilt  each  strain; 
All  gloom,  all  troubles,  song  allays. 

Od.IF.12 

BREEZES  from  Thrace,  that  come  with  Spring 
To  fill  our  sails,  now  calm  the  waves; 

Unfed  by  snows,  no  longer  raves 
The  stream;  frost  is  no  longer  king. 
Now  nests  the  unhappy  bird  that  must 

For  ever  mourn  Itys — a  shame 

Eternal,  she,  to  Cecrops'  name, 
Whose  crime  avenged  Kings'  barbarous  lust. 
Our  failings'  warders  sing  their  loves 

To  Pan-pipe's  music  on  green  swards, 

And  gladden  him  whose  favour  guards 
Arcadia's  flocks,  and  dark  hill-groves. 
Virgil,  the  days  are  thirsty  days, 

But,  if  you  want  Calenian,  then, 

As  client  of  young  noblemen, 
Bring  with  you  nard ;  he  drinks  who  pays. 
A  box  will  draw  a  cask,  my  friend, 

Now  in  Sulpician  stores  laid  up ; 

There's  hope,  fresh  hope,  in  every  cup, 
And  of  all  bitter  cares  an  end. 
If  on  these  joys  you're  keen,  then  come 

Quick  with  the  stuff ;  I  don't  incline 

To  soak  you  gratis  with  my  wine, 


108 

As  might  a  rich  man  in  full  home. 

Quick,  quit  your  usury.    Time  is  fleet. 
Think,  while  you  may,  of  funeral  flames, 
And  blend  brief  folly  with  your  aims; 

Folly,  in  folly's  hour,  is  sweet. 

Od.lF.13 

LYCE,  the  Gods  have  heard  my  prayer ; 
They've  heard  it,  Lyce;  you  grow  ok- 
And  yet  you  wish  to  pose  as  fair, 

And  drink  and  wanton  brazen-bold. 
Drunken,  you  woo  with  quavering  tongu^ 

Unwilling  Cupid ;  ah,  but  he 
Keeps  watch  on  the  fair  cheeks  of  young 

Chia,  queen  of  the  psaltery. 
Past  withered  oaks  he  wings  his  flight 

Ruthless,  and  you,  yes  you,  he  flies 
Because  tan  teeth,  hair  snowy-white, 

And  wrinkles,  smirch  you  in  his  eyei. 
Nor  Coan  silks,  nor  jewelry, 

Bring  back  the  years  of  youth  and  prime    . 
Years  stored  in  public  history, 

And  sealed  therein  by  winged  Time. 
Your  beauty,  radiance,  grace — what  deatt 

Has  chased  them?    What  is  there  to  se^. 
Of  what  you  were — of  her  whose  breath 

Breathed  love :  who  stole  my  heart  from  m^, 
A  presence  after  Cinara's  blest, 

Winsome,  renowned — where  is  it?    Where) 
But  fate  gave  Cinara  at  the  best 

Few  years;  having  intent  to  spare 


109 

•  i 
Lyce  to  rival  an  old  crow, 

That  ardent  swains,  coming  to  view 
Your  beauty's  torch,  might  see  it  now 

Fallen  to  ash,  and  laugh  at  you. 

Od.  IF.  14 

AT  zeal  of  Senate  or  of  people  may 
With  fitting  meed  of  honours  eternize, 
Augustus,  your  all-worthiness  for  aye, 

By  graven  inscriptions  and  State-histories? 
Prince  of  all  princes  mightiest,  wheresoe'er 

The  sun  illumes  earth's  peoples  with  his  light, 
Whom  the  Vindelici,  untaught  to  bear 

Rome's  yoke,  have  lately  learnt  to  know — your  might 
In  war,  for  Drusus,  with  your  soldiery, 

With  more  than  mere  requital,  overthrew 
Fiercely  the  turbulent  Genauni,  aye, 

And  swiftly  marching  Brenni — strongholds  too 
Perched  on  the  awful  Alps.     This  warfare  won, 

The  elder  Nero  clashed  in  furious  fight 
With  the  gigantic  Raeti,  and  anon 

Put  them,  with  happy  auspices,  to  flight. 
A  gallant  sight  he  was,  as  gallantly 

With  mighty  shocks  his  battle  smote  amain 
Hearts  freely  dedicate  to  liberty 

Or  death — well  nigh  as  Auster  sweeps  the  main 
Tameless,  what  time  the  Pleiads'  choir  on  high 

Disparts  the  clouds — eager  to  thrust  his  way 
Thro'  enemy  ranks,  and  ride  his  fiery 

Steed  thro'  the  heat  and  fury  of  the  fray. 
As  bull-like  Aufidus,  whose  waters  pass 

Apulian  Daunus'  realm,  rolls  in  his  pride, 


no 

What  time  he  fumes,  and,  fuming,  plots,  alas ! 

A  flood  whose  waves  shall  waste  the  countryside, 
So  Qaudius  overwhelmed  with  rush  far-sped 

The  mailed  barbarians'  hosts,  as,  mowing  down 
Front  ranks  and  rear,  he  strewed  the  battle-stead 

With  slain,  and  won,  unscathed,  the  victor's  crown. 
You  gave  the  troops,  you  gave  the  plan,  yours  were 

The  favouring  auspices,  for  on  the  day 
That  Alexandria  humbly  opened  her 

Harbours  and  empty  palace,  as  your  prey, 
On  this  same  day,  three  lustres  passed,  Good  Speed, 

Which  gave  unbroken  victory  to  your  hands, 
Has  added  this  renown,  and  longed-for  meed 

Of  glory,  to  your  earlier  commands. 
You  the  Cantabrian,  whom  none  could  tame 

Before :  you  Parthian,  Indian,  Scythian 
Nomad,  revere — you  of  the  Italian  name, 

And  sovereign  Rome,  abiding  Guardian. 
The  Nile  and  Hister,  streams  that  hide  their  springs. 

Tigris'  fast-flowing  flood:  your  beck  abide; 
Aye,  and  the  monster-teeming  Main  that  flings 

On  far  Britannia's  shore  its  breakers'  pride. 
You  claim  the  allegiance  of  the  Gallic  land, 

That  fears  not  death,  of  rough  Hiberia  too; 
The  blood-thirsty  Sygambri,  to  your  hand 

Brought,  lay  aside  their  arms,  and  reverence  you. 

Od.  IV.  15 

PHOEBUS  with  lyre  forbade  me,  fain 
To  tell  of  captured  fort  and  fray, 
To  sail  upon  the  Tuscan  main 

My  little  bark.    Caesar,  your  sway 
Has  brought  back  plenty  to  our  land : 
Has  given,  from  Parthian  doors  reta'en, 


Ill 

Our  standards  to  our  Jove;  your  hand 

Has  closed  Quirinal  Janus'  fane 
In  peace :  has  curbed  the  wild  abuse 

Of  lawless  license :  has  removed 
Faults,  and  recalled  to  us  the  use 

Of  virtues  that  our  fathers  loved, 
Whence  grew  to  strength  the  Latin  name— 

The  imperial  majesty,  that  won 
For  Italy  a  world-wide  fame, 

From  setting  unto  rising  sun. 
While  Caesar  rules  nor  civic  raves, 

Nor  force,  shall  banish  our  repose, 
No,  nor  the  rage  that  forges  glaives, 

And  brings  unhappy  towns  to  blows. 
The  Julian  law  none  shall  defy  — 

Not  they  who  drink  the  Danube's  flood, 
Not  Getae,  Seres,  slippery 

Persians,  not  Tanais'  savage  brood. 
And  we  on  common  days  and  high, 

'Mid  rites  to  merry  Liber  paid, 
With  children  and  with  matrons  by, 

After  devotions  duly  made, 
Will  sing,  as  forbears  wont  to  do, 

Leaders  who  lived  brave  lives  and  fair, 
To  Lydian  flute — Anchises  too, 

And  Troy,  and  kindly  Venus'  heir. 

The  Secular  Hymn 

T)HOEBUS  and  Dian,  woodland  Queen, 
•*-      Glory  of  heaven's  resplendent  sheen, 
Worshipped  and  worshipful  for  aye, 
Grant  us  the  boons  we  seek  to-day: 
On  which  the  Sibyl's  runes  require 
That  boys  and  girls,  a  holy  choir, 


112 

Shall  sing  unto  the  Gods  who  care 

For  our  seven  hills  a  hymn  of  prayer. 

Kind  Sun,  whose  chariot  on  its  way 

Opens  and  closes  every  day: 

Who  risest  different  yet  the  same, 

May'st  never  view  what  shrinks  Rome's  fame ! 

Who  openest  ripe  wombs  of  thy  right 

Full  gently,  Ilithyia  hight, 

Or,  if  thou  wilt,  Lucina,  bless 

Our  mothers,  as  birth's  Patroness. 

Goddess,  bring  up  our  youth,  and  speed 

That  which  the  Fathers  have  decreed 

Wedlock  anent — the  law  whereby 

Marriage  creates  the  family, 

That  each  fixed  cycle,  covering 

Ten  times  eleven  years,  may  bring 

Anthems  and  games,  thronged  in  daylight 

Three  times,  and  three  times  in  the  night. 

Ye  Fates,  whose  prophecies  are  sure, 

As  promised — may  the  pledge  endure 

By  grace  of  our  great  Land-Mark's  stay! — 

Add  new  to  old  good  speed,  we  pray. 

With  crops  and  herds  rich,  may  our  land 

Bid  Ceres  crowned  with  wheat-ears  stand; 

May  Jove  with  many  a  favouring  breeze, 

And  kindly  rains,  bless  our  increase. 

Gentle  and  kind,  with  bow  laid  by, 

Apollo,  hear  our  striplings'  cry; 

Queen  of  the  stars,  with  crescent  brows, 

O  Luna,  hear  our  maidens'  vows. 

If  Rome  is  yours,  and  Ilion  bore 

The  folk  who  won  the  Etruscan  shore — 

A  remnant,  called  to  Lares  new 

And  homes,  and  safely  brought  thereto — 

For  whom,  unscathed  when  Ilion  flamed, 


113 

Outliving  Troy,  Aeneas,  named 

The  Good,  to  give  them  more  than  they 

Had  lost,  carved  out  an  open  way, 

To  docile  youth  grant  honesty, 

Ye  Gods,  to  eld  tranquility; 

Give  to  the  Romuleian  race 

Offspring,  and  means,  and  every  grace. 

What  Venus'  and  Anchises'  heir 

Asks,  with  white  steers  to  plead  his  prayer, 

That  give  him :  let  him  crush  each  foe 

In  arms,  but  spare  a  foe  laid  low. 

By  sea  and  land  before  his  power, 

And  Alban  axes,  Parthians  cower; 

Now  Indians,  Scyths,  once  insolent, 

Wait  upon  his  arbitrament. 

Now  Faith  and  Peace  and  Chivalry 

Return  with  pristine  Modesty; 

Virtue  ignored  dares  re-appear, 

And  Plenty  with  full  horn  is  here. 

Surely  as  Phoebus,  archer-seer. 

Adorned  with  radiant  bow,  and  dear 

To  the  nine  Muses — he  whose  skill 

Healthgiving  heals  limbs  tired  and  ill — 

Sees  Palatine  heights  with  kind  face, 

He  lengthens  out  a  lustre's  space, 

And  on  to  aeons  of  success, 

Rome's  weal  and  Latium's  happiness, 

Diana  too,  whom  Aventine 

Hill  and  Mount  Algidus  enshrine, 

Heeds  our  Fifteen  Priests'  prayers,  and  hears 

Our  children's  vows  with  gracious  ears. 

That  Jove  and  all  the  Gods  assent 

We  bear  back  home  hope  confident, 

And  sure — the  chorus  trained  to  praise 

Phoebus  and  Dian  with  glad  lays. 


114 

VARIAE  LECTIONES 
I,  24,  line  12 

That  not  thus  did  you  bid  them  keep  your  friend. 
I,  24,  20 

.  .  .  naught  may  remedy. 
I,  37,  lines  30-32 

She  grudged  Rome's  galleys,  haughty  dame, 
That  she,  reft  of  her  royalty, 

In  triumph  led,  should  flaunt  Rome's  fame. 
Ill,  13,  line  13 

The  fame  of  famous  fountains  shall 
Be  thine, 

III,  23,  lines  25-30 

A  giftless  hand — a  hand  not  made 

By  victim  of  great  price 
More  coaxing — on  the  altar  laid, 

As  offering  sacrifice, 

Soothes  angered  House-Gods  by  the  appeal 
Of  crackling  salt  and  pious  meal. 

IV,  7,  line  22 

By  flaming  doom  has  fixed  your  destiny, 
IV,  13,  line  4 

Whose  swelling  brows  young  horns  uprear, 
Secular  Hymn,  lines  26-27 

As  ye  once  promised — and  may  your 

Pledge  stand  thro'  our  firm  Landmark's  stay — 

W.  H.  M. 


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